Agony and Ecstasy
by TBloves2read
Summary: This is my version of Kenya Wright's Heartbreak Hotel. Mercedes' world breaks apart when she finds her fiance in bed with another girl. Shattered, she flees LA and escapes to her sister's Key West bed and breakfast—where she bumps into her childhood friend, Sam, who went from the chubby boy-next-door to a certifiable hunk. Can true love heal the wounds of their hearts?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my version of Kenya Wright's Heartbreak Hotel. Most of the work is hers and I own none of this or any of the Glee World characters that I tried to mesh with this story. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Prologue**

_Sam_

News reporters shoved microphones in front of my face and barreled me with questions.

"Sam, over here!" a cameraman yelled.

A reporter jumped in front of me. "Now that the Mantis has been caught, what will you do?"

I ignored him and another came from my right. "Will you still be running Evans Media?"

A reporter showed up on my left. "You've been adamant that the Mantis had an accomplice. Do you believe the authorities will catch this person?"

Putting on my sunglasses, I walked through the crowd. My lawyer and brother, Steve kept my pace, yelling out "no comment" here and there. People crowded us, almost blocking the path. Most held their cellphones up, recording my walk out of the courtroom. Many cameras flashed.

Others held signs with my face on it. "Sam Evans: The New Captain America!" And then "Sam caught the Mantis!"

My brother and I approached our limo.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Evans." My driver held open the door.

Nodding in greeting, I dove in. My brother followed, probably just as ready as I was to get away from the circus.

Seven months of court had finally ended. Seven months of witnesses going over the gory details of the Mantis' murders. Seven months of horrific crime scene photos and the sick fascination on her face as she gazed at them while chained to her chair. Six months of my having to relive the two nights she'd captured me. The pain. The broken memories. The nightmares that haunted in dark silence.

My phone beeped. There were over thirty missed calls. Most were from my mother. The rest were from faceless women.

A text message came in.

Brittany: Congrats on the case. U must feel good. Do U want to me to suck you off?

Neither her name nor the text gave me any indication of who she was or what she looked like. I didn't even remember when I'd used her services before.

I put the phone back in my pocket and looked out the window. Hundreds of people had crowed the courthouse with signs. This week it was the Mantis murders. The next week they'd be out here for some other gory high-profile case.

My phone beeped again.

Brittany: I miss that big dick. Give it to me, Sammy.

I shut it off.

My brother turned to me as the limo pulled away. "Are you okay?"

"No."

"Rachel is in jail now," Steve said. "It's over. You should feel better."

"They have her, but that's not it. There had to be someone else helping. There's no way she carried all of those bodies by herself."

"I've told you over and over. That woman had hands of a man. All she had to do was get a wheelbarrow or something to push. Let it go, man. No one else has been murdered since she's been caught. The cops are done. The state found their killer. You have to move on."

"I can't stop. I won't stop. I'm going to hire new investigators."

Steve let out a long breath. "You're obsessed."

"I'm not."

"Look. At least take a vacation and then come back to start this investigation afterwards."

I eyed him. "A vacation?"

"You know? One of those fun things people take to remind them about the joy of living."

"After what we've seen and heard in court, you still think there's joy in living?"

Steve frowned. "I don't like when you talk that way. Are you having suicidal thoughts?"

"Does it even matter bro?"

Steve's frown deepened. "We need to get away from New York."

I undid my tie and opened the top button on my shirt. "You're my lawyer, not my psychiatrist."

"I'm also your brother and I'm telling you that you need to talk to someone."

"No, I need to end Rachel's games for good."

"She was just put in jail for five lifetime sentences. I think you ended it, bro." Steve looked out the window. "We're going on a vacation. I'll give you a week to get your things together and make sure someone's overseeing Evans Media while you're gone."

"I'm not going—"

"Do you want my help with these investigations?" Steve took it there. "Or do you plan on doing this all by yourself? Because I'm telling you right now, I need a break from this Hell-storm." He rubbed his face with both hands as if massaging stress from his temples. "All the blood. The dead bodies. We've been digesting this shit for two years. It's all we talk about. It's all we've done. I need a frigging break."

"Fine," I muttered.

"So, do you want my help or not?"

I sighed, knowing that I needed him. He'd been right by my side the whole time, keeping my head in order and helping me find the clues we needed to get rid of my murdering ex-wife. In fact, he'd always stood by my side, from the time I met her until the time I put her away. While everyone else talked about their worry and tried to help me, Steve was the only person who was stubborn enough and tolerant of mt self-destructive acts and stubbornness to stick by me, making sure I got out of bed and ate food, giving me a mission to do to keep me walking on this earth day after day.

"Yes," I said. "I need your help."

"Then, we're going on a vacation."

I gritted my teeth. "Where?"

He leaned his head back and shut his eyes. "You pick since you're so excited to go."

"Fine." I ran my fingers through my hair, happy that my hands weren't shaking. "I'm open to going away for a while."

"What about out of the country?" Steve asked.

"No. I don't want a long flight."

"Hmmm." And then a grin spread across Steve's face. My own spirit rose. It had been a long time since either of us smiled.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Key West."

There was something about the Florida Keys that turned my black-and-white world into technicolor. My family's main home was in Manhattan, but during the chilly seasons we snow-birded to the Keys. It was the best way to grow up as a kid. New York was a concrete jungle of skyscrapers, melting pots bubbling over, and wild creatures that looked human, but acted like beasts. It was good to get a break from the city's coldness and bask in the sun.

Our time in Key West always was a dream. There, it was a marriage of land and sea, featuring a necklace of pearl islands linked together by forty-two curved bridges. They stretched southwest from Florida's mainland and lay 100 miles from Cuba.

And it was a flamboyant community made up of Floridians descended from Bahamian and Cuban settlers. A land of dreamers living the easy life. I closed my eyes and images flashed in my head—coconuts and angelfish, sour key limes and golden sunsets over turquoise waters. In Key West, the party never ended. Colorful bars stayed open all night. One could get lost for days as they dived in the ocean, searching for lobsters or exploring captivating coral.

It's been a long time since I've seen a proper sunset.

Key West owned the sun. There, dawn revealed the massive fireball escaping the ocean. In the twilight hours, tourists and residents rushed to watch the blazing orange ball ooze back into cool waters.

I haven't had a proper fish dish either.

But I hadn't been back to our family home in years. I looked out the window, hiding my shock from Steve. "Why Key West?"

"If you're worried about Mercedes, there's no need. She's not there."

"Why would I be worried about Merce?"

Mocking me, he batted his eyes. "Because you were in love with her."

"It was a teenage crush."

"Dude, you still had pictures of her in your college dorm."

"That was the past." I thought about the court case. "So much has changed."

"Yeah... it has."

Silence filled the limo for several minutes.

"I keep up with her sister all the time," he said. "Mercedes is in LA, engaged to a movie director."

I did my best to keep the bitterness out of my words. "That's great."

"Basically, she won't be in the Keys."

"Good."

"So, what do you think? Should we head off to Key West?" He made a big show of checking his watch as if there was a calendar on it. "It's almost October. Fantasy Fest will be in a few weeks. I wouldn't mind being surrounded by thousands of naked women."

Fantasy Fest ran for nine days and was Key West's biggest party of the year. Similar to Mardi Gras in New Orleans and Carnival in Brazil, over 70,000 people came from all over to celebrate citywide. It was an adult Halloween festival with partygoers stomping down Duval Street in elaborate costumes. Many times, people wore nothing but body paint.

"I haven't been to a Fantasy Fest in six years, or got a good blow job like the one I had the last time I was there." Steve continued talking, but my mind had already gone somewhere else.

Memories of Mercedes faded out my brother's statements. I'd called her Cherry Coke when we were young. That was her favorite drink and I would buy it for her all the time. Even pack some in my suitcases and bring it from New York to Key West when I got older. I often imagined that if I ever got the courage to kiss her would she taste like her favorite beverage.

Back then, I'd been shy and a hundred pounds overweight. She was also what was considered thick but on the islands thick and fat were not synonymous. She'd never seen me as anything more than the cool snowbird boy who was her friend. We spent many years, soaking up the sun and skinny-dipping within the moonlight. Just friends. Nothing more. When we lost touch, it was more me than her. It was hard to hear her stories about boyfriends. Each of her confessions stabbed me in the heart.

"Eh. Sam?" Steve waved his hand in front of my face. "Did you just blank out on me?"

"Yeah." I unbuttoned my suit jacket, ready to get out of the stuffy clothes and into something more comfortable. And for some reason, the desire to disappear was stronger than usual.

Steve's right. I should get out of here for a while.

As if hearing me, he asked. "What do you think?"

"I don't know."

"We had some good memories in Key West," Steve said. "Lots of clear blue water and powder white sand. Mom bought some new jet skis last winter and left them there. Plus, we could probably buy a yacht or something. Sail somewhere. Fish and swim."

"Yeah." I did my best to focus on what he was saying, but I couldn't get Mercedes out of my mind. "Fishing sounds good."

Had Mercedes heard the news? The Mantis and my face had been on every popular paper on the East Coast. She lived in a popular city out in the west. I doubted the killings had been Los Angeles' top news—a city brimming with Hollywood stars, hungry paparazzi, and celebrity gossip trending each day.

"Sam? Is it Key West or bust?"

"Yeah." I blinked Mercedes out of my mind and blew out a long breath. "Key West or bust."

"Good." Steve clapped his hands together. "We'll leave in a week. I'll handle everything."

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Mercedes_

Heartbreak was like death.

Both stripped away the soul and left the body as an empty shell.

And I was broken. Torn apart. Soul shredded, and spirit ripped into tiny pieces.

Heartbreak sliced away at the inner peace of life. Due to my major and public break up with my ex-fiancé, the past year had been a cycle of darkness.

And every time I tried to write, my fingers hovered over the keys in mid-air. No words ever came out.

A continuous blank screen was the ultimate demise of a writer. It symbolized the emptiness within. Nothing was more lonely than white space dominating a page.

And Los Angeles was the last place to help me out of depression. It was already a lost world full of fake surgically stitched smiles and friendships that came with an Appropriate Times to Backstab clause. The LA streets served as a drug-induced fashion runway, showing off the beautiful people—artificial creatures that were hollow on the inside.

Basically, I hated that city. The only reason why I'd stayed there for so long was because of Artie, and now... we were done.

And so, I returned to my second home to heal and mend myself back together again. This was the third time I'd ran back to the Keys, due to a shattered relationship. I'd even dubbed my room—Heartbreak Hotel.

Welcome home.

I looked out the window. The sun began to set over my sister's bed and breakfast.

The place was named Dolphin View because it was the best spot to watch those lovable creatures. Sitting on its own secluded white strip of sand, it was a massive structure of four levels. My great grandfather built the first part of Dolphin View. My grandfather continued construction. My parents expanded it.

And my sister, Grace took it to a new level. When I was young, the property had been an ancient, broken-down business with barely one reservation each month. Grace and I had a seventeen-year age difference. Growing up, she was more my mother than a sibling. And then my parents died in a car accident, leaving Grace the family business and custody of me. I'd been an eight-year-old kid at the time. Tracy and Grace had just been dating.

But he was a good man. They married a week after my parents' funeral. He dumped all his savings into the property, sold everything he owned, and was the main person that took me to school and helped with my homework.

In their early twenties, they should've been doing anything else but raising an eight-year-old and budgeting a failing business. But they were the best. Champions. And with that type of fire in their hearts they made a success out of Dolphin View.

I can't believe how much things have changed.

Now Dolphin View was an elegant Key West getaway. Forty rooms featured king-sized beds. There was high-quality linen, high-definition flat-screens, and private bathrooms stocked with luxury products and Jacuzzi bathtubs. Most rooms had balconies. Some had fireplaces. Guests enjoyed use of kayaks, bicycles, snorkeling gear, and barbecues grills.

The new chef delivered gourmet cuisine. Grace kept the library stocked with recent bestsellers and leather-bound classics. And there was an in-ground courtyard pool in the back just in case a person didn't simply want to walk a few feet to the beach.

The attic had been renovated into an apartment for me—my own little getaway when things got heavy. I'd written a lot of books in this space.

Everything is so high-end now.

Still, I couldn't ignore the haunted quality of Dolphin View, especially in the attic. Up there, the floorboards didn't just creak throughout the night, they groaned like an animal in pain. Cold spots lingered. Shadows slithered along corners. Ancient ghosts danced within the freshly painted walls.

I'd just arrived last night. That evening, I lay in bed and swore a dead woman sang this sad song. However, it could've just been the ocean breeze whispering through the windows. Or it could've just been me. In this mood, everyone—even the spirits—walked in gloom.

Grace opened the door and peeked inside. "The guests just got on the bus to go to Mallory Square."

The sun took center stage here. Mallory Square had a daily sunset celebration ceremony full of fire-eaters, jugglers, and musicians.

Grace showed me her watch. "You have twenty minutes."

"Good." I jumped off the bed and gathered my things.

"This is insane." Grace stepped inside, looking like she'd just strolled down the stage of a runway. She wore heels, designer slacks, and a lovely silk blouse. My sister was a stunning woman. Her makeup was perfection—beautiful plums to highlight her brown complexion. Her long dyed blonde hair curled at the ends.

She shook her head, but smiled the whole time. "What the hell do you have on?"

My coffin black gown hugged my body. Rose-shaped sequins covered the bust. Silk formed the rest and flowed out to the floor. Usually, I slung my hair into a ponytail and threw a baseball cap on. Tonight, I'd let my long mane fall to my waist.

Grace laughed. "Where did you get that gown?"

"A pawn shop on Main Street."

"So..." She laughed again. "Why are you wearing it?"

"Because Artie and my love died. So tonight, is the funeral where I mourn the loss and walk away free."

"Really, Merce? Overdramatic much?" She walked over to where my unpacked luggage lay. "Are you really going to do this?""Jesus Christ, you have a ball gown on."

"Shut it."

Are you sure you didn't dabble into drugs and some weird cult when you were out there in LA?" "Whatever you do please don't scare my guests away.

"I won't."

"Merce, are you okay?" my sister asked. "Like...mentally...okay?"

Sucking my teeth, I turned back to her. "Did you bring the romance novel?"

"Yes." She showed me a thick book. On the cover, a full moon glowed in the background. At the center was a silhouette of a muscular man carrying a big-breasted heroine. "This is my favorite. It takes you into another world where—"

"Come on. I said don't bring your favorite."

"Yeah, but I wanted you to get caught up in an amazing story, instead of drag around the beach like a crazy woman to get your mind off Artie."

"I'm not going to drag around the beach. I promise." I held up my hand like a boy scout would. "And by the way, doing things like this helps me get out of my funk."

"Funerals?"

"Yes. I'm grieving and trying to get over my loss."

"Why can't you just smoke weed and binge watch shows on Netflix like everyone else?" Grace shook her head. "No, you have to have funerals and believe in ghosts."

"Weed and Netflix and you accusing me of being on drugs?" I raised my eyebrows "Who have you been hanging around?"

"My guests keep me relevant." She held out the book to me. "I'm just saying. Be careful. You're leaning very close off the ledge and I'm afraid you're going to fall. What's next, a séance to the dead? A summoning of the devil?"

"I wouldn't do anything that crazy." I gave up on my search for the vial of blood. "The funeral is more a metaphor than wanting to commune with the dead or evil."

"Wow."

Laughing for the first time in a long time, I grabbed the romance novel, put it with the rest of my things, and headed out. "Fine. I told you not to give me your favorite, but whatever. I'll just buy you another copy tomorrow."

"Buy me another copy?" She followed me. "Why?"

"Because I'm burning your book."

"No, the hell you will not. You will not burn Wesley."

I paused at the top of the staircase and looked over my shoulder. "Wesley?"

"He's the alpha in the book and he is so amazing." She reached out for the novel.

"Wesley?" I backed away. "He sounds like a Princess Bride wannabe hero. I swear I'll buy you another one." I left her and hurried down the stairs, passing the third floor.

"Wait." Grace followed. "Do not burn my book. Burn one of yours."

"I'll get you a brand-new copy tomorrow." I skipped a few steps to gain more advance. "It'll be leather bound and signed by the author."

She was getting close. "You won't be able to get a signed copy."

"I can try." I kept my distance. "I know people."

Tracy met us at the end of the staircase and grinned. "What are you two arguing about now?"

"I asked Grace to give me a novel that wasn't her favorite which she didn't and now she wants it back." I twisted around and hid behind him. "Save me from this crazy woman."

My sister got to the end of the stairs. "Basically, I'm going to kill her if she doesn't give me my book back."

Chuckling, Tracy grabbed his wife. "You already have two copies of that book."

"Wow." I wagged my finger at her. "Two copies of this chick's work? You've betrayed me."

Grace stuck her tongue out. "I can buy books from other authors."

"Umm," I said.

"They're emergency copies. It doesn't matter." She pouted, but remained in her husband's embrace.

Tracy interrupted. "The guests are gone." He kissed her on the forehead. "Don't we have some quality time we should be attending to?"

And then my sister forgot about the book or her favorite hero. Tracy was her king in the castle. He was the dashing knight that saved the damsel. He was the prince that would stop at nothing to free his heroine from a world of darkness.

Tracy looked over his shoulder. "You're safe, Merce. Go ahead and do your funeral, before the guests come back from the sunset ceremony."

"You're my hero."

"Always."

They giggled, kissed each other, and headed up the stairs. My heart ached. I loved that my sister had this perfect man that I considered a father. I just craved the same type of love for myself one day.

Sighing, I embarked on my mission, heading out the front door. It slammed behind me. The ocean breeze slipped against my skin. This side of the beach was owned by my sister and other private owners. Nearing the end of the day, no one walked around with their dogs or helped their kids make castles and dig holes.

There was no sound but the waves twirling and singing to the wind. A dance between the water and the breeze—caressing and twisting against each other.

As the sun set, a full moon rose. Like the ocean and the wind, the moon had an endless dance with the Earth, both orbiting the sun, but never coming close enough to touch.

I stopped by an old campfire. My sister let her guests start fires on the beach at night as long as she supervised the lighting and putting out.

I stood at the blackened-out hole, full of charred wood and ash.

Am I really going to do this? A funeral pyre?

"Ah!" I jumped and turned at a sound I heard of someone approaching me.

A man stood in front of me with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hand. He wore a white V-neck t-shirt—cotton fabric that did nothing to hide the chiseled muscle beneath. His jeans hung loose from his hips. Leather sandals guarded his feet. I caught a symbol on the buckle. It was some designer brand that I couldn't afford.

For one crazy moment, I wondered had I truly lost my mind and was imagining him...

How could I not? This towering man appeared more like one of Grace's fantasy alpha heroes than a human being. Dark blonde hair. Glowing white skin like some vampire in a paranormal. And he had these piercing green eyes that sliced through my soul.

A dark smile spread across that gorgeous face. "Are you burning a sacrifice for everyone's sins?"

I found my voice. "No."

"Too bad. I was hoping you could save my soul."

"Sorry. I'm still trying to save mine."

His cold confidence disrupted the air. I feared the flames would wither away with the new temperature. He came closer to the fire. The blaze's glow lit every delicious angle of him.

"What are you burning?" he asked.

"Letters and items that my ex gave me..." I stopped talking as he sat down next to the fire and set the bottle on the sand along with the glasses.

"Do you mind?" he asked as he settled in next to me.

"I..."

He hit me with that same dark smile. "Better yet, do you even remember me?"

Remember him? That took me aback. I studied this mysterious man. Wait. I know him. Memories flickered in my head as I took in each detail as I finally focused on his green familiar eyes.

"Oh my Lord." I gasped. "Samuel?"

His face fell with embarrassment. "They call me Sam now."

"You look freaking amazing."

Some of his cool confidence disappeared as he blushed. "I lost a little weight."

"Oh yes, you lost weight. You are all muscle and hardness and..." I cleared my throat. "I mean...you look...amazing."

I swallowed as he drank me in. His gaze slipped along the top of my gown featuring a bosom that I didn't have to buy, followed down to the sequenced curve of my hips, and ended at my bare feet. "And you're still beautiful, and even more crazy."

I blushed.

"Would you like a glass of wine, after your pyre?" His gaze rested on my hair. "I figured you could use a drink."

"You did. Why?"

"Because it's nighttime and you're in an elegant gown and burning shit on the beach. If you don't need a drink, then you may need a shrink."

"Fine." I laughed. "I will have a glass of wine, after my—"

"Exorcism?"

"Funeral," I corrected. In the fire, roses burned and melted into Grace's prized novel and my ex's old love letters.

He watched. "What are you healing from?"

"Heartbreak."

"Hmm." An odd emotion crossed over his face. And just as I tried to study it, he shifted his expression to neutral. "These flowers are from your boyfriend and you're mad at him?"

"They're from my ex-fiancé and I'm done with him. I don't care enough anymore to be mad at him."

"Sure."

"I'm not."

"Okay." A knowing smile spread over his lips as he pulled out the cork and poured us two glasses of wine. "Tell me something." He pierced me with his gaze. "Was it really love or were you telling yourself it was?"

"It had to be." I sat down next to him and the fire. "We were together for five years."

"Some people sit in a relationship because they're afraid to be alone."

"That wasn't me." Suddenly uncomfortable, I poured sand over the fire to slow it down. "Well...I thought we loved each other."

"How did he treat you?"

"In the beginning, he treated me like a princess."

"Most do that to get what they want."

"And then he stopped."

"Because he got what he wanted inside your panties." He poured the glass of wine.

I frowned. "There's no sugarcoating things with you."

"No, that's not my strong point." He handed me the glass. His finger brushed against mine. His skin was warm and soft.

I had this instant urge to feel more. "How are you, Samuel?"

He held up one finger. "You're not allowed to call me that anymore. Everyone calls me Sam."

"Okay."

"Anything is better than Samuel or Sammy."

"I like both names," I said.

"It was my mother's last name. She thought it would be cool to carry it on, not guessing that kids later would call me names like Sammy Fat Mamby."

"Well, I thought it was the coolest name."

"We've already established that you're eccentric, my funny little conch."

Those born in the Keys were called Conchs. Those born other places were considered Keys Characters.

He hit me with an intense gaze. "I'm happy to see you, Merce."

"Me too," I said, although I wondered why we had lost touch. It was true that childhood friends grew apart, but I thought we would stay in contact. With technology nowadays, there were so many avenues of communication. Anytime I signed up on a social media app or site, I would try to add him as a friend. I often wondered if he was just one of those people who never really got online and hadn't seen my invite, or if he was just not interested in reconnecting. But. Samuel went from cuddly and round to a stranger with a tower of muscle. Sam it is.

"To old friends." He raised his glass.

"Yes. To old friends."

We tapped our glasses together and I sampled the wine.

"We should catch up on our lives," I said.

"Maybe another time on the catch-up talk." The fun expression left his face as he stared at the dark ocean dotted in moonlight. His tone darkened. "I'm currently escaping my life."

"Me too." I wondered what he meant, but didn't have the courage to ask. A chilly quiet settled between us that was colder than the wind.

After a few minutes, he broke the awkward silence. "I didn't think you would be here, but I'm glad you are."

"I didn't know you visited this place anymore."

"I don't, but this time... I needed this place."

"I know exactly what you mean. Every time I get knocked down or hurt out in the world, I come back here." I gestured toward Dolphin View. "I call this place, Heartbreak Hotel. I check in broken. I check out with hope and a healed heart."

"That's a good name. I may steal it from you like you did Elvis."

"Boy I am talking about the song that Whitney Houston sang with Faith Evans and Kelly Price. You must have forgotten about my love for all songs Whitney?"

"I should have known. Sorry. Who could forget why I still don't understand why are you not singing number one hits like she did."

"I tried but writing was a passion that actually paid the bills."

"Well I am glad you did find success in life not that I was worried. You were always so ambitious and stubborn and crazy as hell."

Nodding, I poured more sand onto the fire. "Luckily, you happened to walk in on my funeral pyre so hopefully the smoke around us is healing you."

"That's exactly why I came over here."

Shocked, I asked. "Really? To heal from the fire?"

"No." He chuckled. "I came here because I was looking out of my window and saw this beautifully dressed woman who walked familiarly on the beach, and I was hoping it was you."

He sipped some of his wine. "Once you started throwing things into the fire and screaming, I knew it was you. Still crazy and dramatic. Still Merce."

"And you're still catching me doing ridiculous things on the beach."

He turned back to the dark ocean rolling over waves in the moonlight. "I couldn't believe it was you. I'd just spent an hour staring at a blank canvas and holding a wet paintbrush. I went to the window for inspiration and spotted you."

"You're an artist now?"

He finished his glass. "Do I look like an artist?"

He was so fine it was considered rude. Women probably considered many activities that Sam did, but I bet none of them had to do with paintbrushes and canvases.

"How are the Pendergrasses?" he asked.

"Great as usual."

"I always liked them."

"You should come by and say hello."

"I will."

I smiled. "And how are your siblings?"

The Evans family had a reputation in the keys for breaking girls' and guys' hearts. Sam was the only one that was shy and peaceful. He'd been overweight and obsessed with comics, science fiction, superheroes, and video games. Sam was the only Evans boy Tracy would let me hang around alone with. He swore Stevie or Sebastian would take my virginity and I would end up a teenage pregnancy statistic.

Sam took a sip of his wine. "My siblings are my siblings. Still the same, but now the world is their playground. Steve's here. Stacy is on tour in Europe. Sebastian tagged along to help Stacy with her groupies."

"Sebastian's always been such a good Samaritan."

"That's one way to describe him."

"I follow Stacy on Facebook. I love her music." I tried to think back to any news I'd heard on Sebastian and drew a blank.

Sam turned to me. "How long will you be here, Cherry Coke?"

I giggled at the old nickname. "I have no idea."

He frowned. "None?"

"There's no set time. I'll be here until I'm done healing...and probably when I finish writing a novel that's due to my publisher next month."

"Of course," He gestured to the gown. "Now everything is making more sense. So, you are really here to heal?"

"Pretty much. Every time I get knocked down in life, I come back here, work it out, and get back on my two feet to race after my destiny again."

"Good. I hope you get there."

Silence hit us for a minute.

He cleared his throat. "Make sure you come by the house this week and I'll open a bottle of wine. We'll talk about anything you want." He paused. "Any time."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

A good explanation left my tongue. There was just so much heat radiating from him. My intuition screamed at me to stay away. I loved too much. It had always been my problem. I was in a weak position right now. The more mature me knew that time healed wounds.

Hanging with Sam would be fun, but it wouldn't be like the brotherly-sisterly moments from the past. We weren't kids anymore. He'd become this hardened man of muscle and gorgeousness. A few moments with him alone and I would want to see how hot he could get, how delicious he could taste. He would be a sexy distraction that would shift into my falling in love. Where some women could sleep with a guy and not catch feelings, I hadn't learned that trick yet. It was better to keep my distance.

Or am I just being a wimp? All scared to be around men.

"I wasn't asking you on a date," he said out of nowhere. "That's not my thing."

I quirked my eyebrows. "Dating isn't your thing?"

"No."

I shook my head. "Well, I didn't think you were asking me out."

"I just wanted to make sure you knew. I like to keep everything out in the open."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I have a line that I always tell the woman I'm seeing."

"Okay. This is going to be good." I giggled. "You have to tell me the line."

"Here it goes." His face shifted to a cold mask. "'I would be your death wish. You should guard your heart when you're around me.'"

"Wow. Can I be honest?"

"Of course."

"To me that's cheesy and depressing all at once." I shrugged. "And what's the typical response?"

His mask fell away. "They usually think I'm playing."

"I would've probably ran."

"You're smart."

The noise of a bus sounded off in the distance. I looked over my shoulder and figured my sister's guests had returned. "I should get back and change. I promised to help my sister and the chef with dinner tonight."

"Okay. I'll see you later."

"Hmm. That depends." I put my hand on my hip. "Michael Jackson or Prince?"

"No. Last time I answered that, you threw a slice of purple cake at me."

"You answered wrong."

"Was that how it went?"

"Yes." I checked behind us. The bus had pulled up to the front of the house. Guests had begun departing the big vehicle.

"Well...I have to go." I put everything back in the bag. "I'm glad I saw you, Samuel... I mean, Sam."

He helped me put out the fire until it was gone. "Do you need me to carry anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

He rose with a frown on his face. "Then, I'll see you soon."

"Yes, you will. And next time, I'll make sure to guard my heart." I winked at him.

He smiled. "Good."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to all you loyal readers who are following, reviewing, and making this story your favorite. I will update daily, sometimes twice a day because I just have the rest of the week to load this story and I am not the original author so it doesn't take me long to do this. Kenya Wright deserves all the credit!**

**Chapter 2**

_Sam_

_The sun began to set. Dad grilled steaks in the back. Tracy had just dragged out another pack of beers. I didn't know why grownups drank those things. It tasted like piss. And I knew what piss tasted like due to Stevie pulling a prank on me one morning with his special Superman lemonade._

_Mom and Grace sat on a stretched-out blanket on the sand. Stevie did back flips in front of them as they took a sip of their champagne and giggled each time he did one. A few feet behind Mom, my younger siblings Sebastian and Stacy focused on digging a gigantic hole in the sand. They'd been at it for an hour. God only knew what they had planned. Both dogs stayed clear of them._

_"What's wrong?" The little girl with the black Afro puffs pouted at me. I was two years older than her, but next to me she looked even younger—so short._

_"Nothing's wrong," I said._

_"There is. You don't really want to be my friend?" she asked. "Do you?"_

_I threw a rock at the ocean. It hit the surface and sank into the darkening water. "I kinda have to be your friend."_

_It was so unfair! Stevie and I were supposed to be playing pirates, but Mom told me to be nice to the neighbor girl because she'd just lost her parents. I didn't kill them. Why do I have to play with a dumb girl? She couldn't run fast. She couldn't wrestle. I bet she didn't like to get dirty and only wanted to play with dolls._

_In fact, the only good thing about her was her smell—oatmeal cookies. I think that was because she was always eating sweets. I heard her sister yelling at her everyday outside that she should stop sneaking cookies out of the cookie jar._

_But why couldn't Stevie have been the one to play with her? Or maybe, Sebastian and Stacy. Well...no, Sebastian and Stacy were too young and would probably bore her._

_It was so unfair._

_Mercedes kicked at a shell with her toe. It rolled over. "Why do you have to be my friend?"_

_I threw another rock. This time, I'd made it an inch past the first target. "I have to be your friend because my mom said that you're sad."_

_"I'm not sad. I'm mad." Frowning, she picked up a rock, copied my stance, and threw it just like me. The rock hit the surface farther than mine did. "I beat you."_

_I didn't want to smile, but I did. "Yeah, but you can't do that again."_

_"I bet I can." She grabbed a cracked shell and slung it farther out, reaching beyond a distance that I'd ever thrown._

_I dropped my mouth open. "How did you do that?"_

_She formed her little hands into a fist. "I can do it because I'm mad at God, so he's giving me powers to make it up to me."_

_"Powers?" I turned to her in shock._

_Her Afro was so wild. It moved on its own. Tangles of curls whipped and twirled along her tiny face. And under the moonlight, her eyes glowed like a brownish gold and looked like windows to souls._

_"Whoa," I whispered. "You do have super powers."_

_She nodded. "I told you. God knows I'm mad."_

_"Will you forgive him?"_

_Her eyes watered. "I don't know."_

_In that moment, I thought it might be cool to be her friend. She did have super powers and I'd always wanted some. Maybe she could show me how to fly._

_She picked up another rock and slung it into the ocean. "I could be the most bestest super friend in the world to you."_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Yeah, I know things." Mercedes pointed to the night sky. As the sun set, thousands of stars began to glitter above us. "I know where God's light switch is to turn on all the stars."_

_"You do?"_

_"Yes." She walked to me and whispered in my ear. "God hid it in my heart."_

I woke up in a cold sweat. The sheets clung to my wet skin. A cool breeze blew into my window, drying the sweat away. Sheer curtains swayed back and forth into a dance, letting the moonlight creep in and shadows twirl along my walls.

What made me think of that night?

I hadn't dreamed of Merce in years. Recently, I'd just had nightmares or didn't sleep. That dream had been a memory about the first time I met her. Sure, I'd seen her around the beach. But it wasn't until her parents died that Mom decided to adopt the Jones' girls.

Merce's parents died in that car accident and the next thing we knew, Mom always invited Grace and Tracy over for dinner or Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, or Sunday afternoon tea. There was one point when I thought Mom would just get on with it and ask them to live with us. She was that obsessed with helping them mourn. However, she'd lost her parents at a young age, and I think a lot of old memories had returned to her. And helping the Jones' girls through their grief helped her as she dealt with the painful memories of losing the grandparents I had never known.

_"I know where God's light switch is to turn on all the stars."_

_"You do?"_

_"Yes. God hid it in my heart."_

Merce sold me on our friendship right there. She had indeed become my most bestest super friend. And during those years, she was a fascinating creature—always with an elaborate story that broke down the world—always taking me on an adventure in the ocean or a journey on sand where the beach grass grew tall above us and she claimed monsters lurked within. Merce made me believe in God.

_"You do have super powers."_

_"I told you. God knows I'm mad."_

_"Will you forgive him?"_

_"I don't know."_

I stared at the ceiling and wondered if God knew I was mad at him too? Was that why he'd brought Merce back into my life? What were the odds that all the times, when I'd come back to Key West and had never seen her, that this moment would be the one? That I would reunite with Merce, when I needed her the most?

I'd been a complete emotional mess after my ex-wife, Rachel—the Mantis—had manipulated my mind and tortured me. Regardless of the physical pain she'd caused, the guilt was worse than the scars on my chest. Guilt ate at me. Every time I closed my eyes, her victims crowded my head—my friends. Guys that I'd brought around her—fraternity brothers, co-workers, and my best man. All dead by her hands. I'd resolved any financial problems for her victims' families by anonymously starting a fund and donating several million of dollars to it, but it wouldn't bring the men, my friends, back. They were gone forever.

"Hey!" Steve ducked his head in my bedroom. "Man, are you still asleep? It's two in the afternoon."

"No, I'm just in bed."

"Still in bed? What the hell?" He walked in, dressed in frayed jeans and a Fortnight t-shirt, completely unlike his usual business attire. His unshaven face was cast with the sullen shadow of a man who'd been drinking steadily for most of the afternoon.

"We should be out on the ocean. It's freaking beautiful out there." He set the beer on my nightstand. "And the women." He kissed the tips of his fingers. "Oh my God. You better hurry up and get dressed before I run my game on all of them."

"I'm not worried. Have fun. My type never falls for you."

"Oh yeah? And what exactly is your type besides breathing?"

"Sane, smart, and anti-relationship."

"Whatever bro. Get your sorry ass up so we can play. Let's go sky diving or something. Jump into a volcano. Kidnap a mermaid."

"You sound like a teenager." I stretched my arms. "Are you going to be this way the whole time?"

"The question is, are you going to be this way the whole time?"

Jesus. Is he going through a midlife crisis? He just turned thirty-two. I thought that happened later. Presently, Steve was dealing with a divorce after three years of marriage to a woman he should have known better than to cheat on. I didn't think he would find another amazing woman like Quinn again. But then I'd married a serial killer so it wasn't like I had great life advice.

"Come on." Right in front of me, Steve humped the air. "I. Am. Ready. To. Bang!"

"Jesus, man." I left the bed before him and his little penis could assault me. "Put that tiny water gun away before you shoot yourself."

Since the trial, Steve had unofficially assumed the job of taking care of me. But sometimes I wondered if I was more taking care of him. Steve was the oldest of us four. I was next and only two years younger. Sebastian and Stacy were the babies, barely thirteen months apart. Most thought they were twins. Regardless, I was the most responsible of the bunch and had held the protector title for as long as I could walk. And now our new positions were hard to swallow—Steve, the protector and me, the victim. The broken. The weak.

"Man, you missed a good Duval crawl last night." Steve crashed onto my bed as I rummaged in my drawers. "I must've hit up every damn bar on Duval Street."

"I heard. You had like a hundred people downstairs in the middle of the night."

"No one came up to bother you right?"

"No." I shook my head at him. "Take it easy man so you don't get—"

"Don't even say it."

Mom always called it the Key Disease. The party life in the Keys tended to have a lengthy duration. People started putting out drinks early in the day and continuing late into the night. It didn't help that the nightlife was crazy—luxury martini bars to salty dives, taverns and pubs. Everything stayed open until 4 a.m. Others shut down, when the last customer left. This usually meant dawn.

Meanwhile, the DUI limit was .08 percent here, less than many other states. Even crazier, the DUI laws applied to all vehicles—scooters, boats, and bikes.

"Don't end up in jail," I said.

"I'm not going to get the Key Disease. And I think I can keep myself out of jail. I am the best lawyer on the east coast after all."

"Who gave you that title?"

"Not the point."

"So, you gave it to yourself?"

"I'm the smartest guy you know."

I didn't disagree. Throughout the New York corporate world, they called Steve "The Shredder." And it wasn't the fact that he looked tough. Whether in the boardroom or in court, if anybody came against my families' businesses, he pulverized them. He dominated the corporate law world.

Although no one would ever figure that out if they looked at him now, fully embracing the Key's life like he was a frat boy juiced up on steroids.

"Saw you talking to Mercedes last night," Steve said. "That was her and not some other crazy short woman, right?"

"Yeah, it was her."

"So?"

"Nothing." I yawned.

Concerned crossed over his face. "What was up with her burning stuff out there?"

"She was doing a funeral pyre to heal her broken heart."

"That sounds like Mercedes."

"Definitely."

"She was always over-dramatic."

"Yeah." I stretched again and grabbed some swim trunks. "Hey, I meant to ask you something."

"What?"

"I was looking for those two black boxes."

"You mean those dark ass boxes full of the Mantis murders details that you're obsessed with and drag around with you everywhere?"

"Yes, those boxes." I frowned. "Emma said you delivered them back."

"She did?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. "It's full of pictures of cut up bodies. Why would I want that on my vacation? Why would you want that? You promised me that you would give us an official vacation from the crap. Why are we even talking about this? Let's hit the beach and some sexy chicks."

"Man, I don't feel like going to the beach today."

"The only time you come to the beach is at night. Come on. Get some sun on that pale skin. The jet skies are ready."

"I don't know."

"Mercedes is out there."

"I don't care about that," I lied. Although as soon as he brought her name up, my interests piqued.

It would be nice to see her. But Merce was all over the place and she'd already broken my heart even though she never knew it. I'd cared for her so much, but never told her. I waited so long that she ended up dating my friend, Tank.

That had been the worst winter of my life. Tank was all muscle and a jackass. I'd started working out because of their relationship. I guessed now I should thank Tank for putting me onto a path of fitness.

Steve didn't give up. "We should go fishing and catch us some pink gold."

Down here, people called shrimp, pink gold. Long ago, a few fishermen caught a shark in the waters between Key West and the Dry Tortugas. When they sliced open the creature's belly, hundreds of them spilled out, sparking a vibrant shrimping industry. Many earned a good living doing it, while guys like Steve and me enjoyed the challenge of catching them and the delicious taste of grilling them afterwards.

Usually, I would've jumped on the idea. But something stopped me from agreeing to do this.

"Not today," I said.

"Maybe, we can get a kayak and go bird watching or something."

"Bird watching? Are you serious?"

"Personally, I was going to bring a fat blunt and a six pack along with the binoculars."

"I'm fine, man."

Steve headed for the door. "Are you at least stepping outside of your room today, Dracula?"

"I don't know."

"Come on." He kissed the air twice and winked at me.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Come see your sweet Cherry Coke." He winked again.

"Wink one more time at me and I'm going to punch you."

"Fine. I'll just go spend time with Cherry Coke myself." He walked off, glancing over his shoulder as if daring me to stop him. In all fairness, I almost did. "I'll tell her you said hi."

I groaned. It would be nice to talk to her again. Maybe too nice.

Holding my clothes, I headed across the room and looked out the window. Clear blue waters lingered near the shoreline, winding out to a sparkling turquoise that was highlighted by the noon sun. Tons of people crowded the beach, tanning in the powder white sand.

I spotted Merce immediately. Her little feet stuck out of a big umbrella with cherries on top of it. I laughed, remembering that I'd bought her that umbrella long ago.

How the hell did she get that open? She must've dragged it out of an attic or something.

I leaned in to get a better view of her.

Reading a book, she moved to her side and lay out flat on a pink and white beach towel. Her hair was swept up into a messy ponytail on top of her head, tempting and making me want to reach out and twirl the soft curls along my finger.

But that wasn't what had me rock hard inside of my boxer briefs.

She wore a two-piece swimsuit with a bottom that came up high on her hips and covered her belly. Like any red-blooded man, my gaze went to those thick thighs and the round globes of her ass. _Jumping Jehoshaphat, Merce. You're still insanely beautiful._ I clamped my jaw tight against the urge to rush out there and bite on her chocolate flesh.

In my mind, I saw myself sitting next to her, so close the swimsuit would torment me, have my hands all over her flesh, touching and caressing. The red bikini top had these little ties around her neck. I thought about yanking them away and massaging her breasts before heading lower to her thighs.

Yeah. Talking to Merce would be so good. I gripped the edge of the window and gazed at her some more. In my head, she moaned and asked me to let my fingers stray between her legs. Sweet Cherry Coke. Heat drummed in my chest as my cock stiffened. _Oh hell! What are you doing? Don't even think about it._

I loved women, their bodies and scent. The only problem with women was the emotions they dragged to the table. I would meet girls at a club, have some drinks, and go back to my place. And then we'd engage in nothing else but protected oral sex for me and if they were one of the very few lucky ones, I would screw them during the time we spent together. No nice play. Not one dinner or movie. I didn't even order pizza and turn the TV on. Just sucking mostly them and fucking for only a few and then a goodbye. And even with that, they'd suddenly want more. And no matter how many times I told them after the fucking that I only wanted a fling, after a while they'd beg for a real relationship. So I had started being a selfish lover and only wanted their mouths sucking on my latex covered cock while I might titty fuck them and/or play with their breasts if they had any worth playing with.

Most of the time, whenever I stupidly put my dick in a chick, she'd end up in tears. It had been almost a year after I had drunkenly made that mistake and pretty much had stuck with getting sucked off whenever I was horny or too drunk to care. Since Rachel wounded me I never took my clothes off in front of another woman. I had sex making sure it was reverse cowgirl or doggy style since Rachel's arrest a handful of times. But the stress of the women thinking that I wanted more was too much to deal with anymore.

That's why I shouldn't even think about trying to screw Merce. Those dick sucking lips and those breasts alone with a good titty screw and just her breath blowing on me would automatically cause me to cum all over myself in record time.

I didn't date and definitely didn't screw women like her. The peace and blessings ones that cared about others and only sought to be happy and make others happy. I liked my girls bad, raw, and broken like me. Ones that were so detached, I failed to recall them at all. Merce still had too much sunshine, when I yearned for the rain, the storms, the darkness. I liked my women with so many problems that they stayed away more than came. Little conversation and selfish pleasure for me. After Rachel, I had nothing inside me to want more than that.

But still, the image of me sitting next to Merce flashed in my head. I told myself to not think about it. She wouldn't understand. I bet Merce was the type of woman that would want to talk on and on until I screamed. She'd want to learn about me, and me about her. She'd want me to confess dumb shit that I didn't have the mental health to deal with anymore.

I just needed to look away.

The only time I wanted my women to open their mouths was to receive my cock. No talk. No love. No rules or relationship. No lengthy dates not ending in sex. Not even a Netflix and chill in my pad sort of situation. No tears. No frowns. No complaints. No discussion of feelings or where it was going. None of that.

Two days of relentless torture had carved that out of me. I was no longer human, although I pretended to be. I was just the meat after my ex-wife butchered me.

Just...

Don't you fucking think about that anymore!

Merce's laughter sounded outside. Steve had actually left the house and walked over to her. Steve always had a way of making Merce giggle and smile.

Old memories of the wet dreams she would cause me hit my mind. My dick hardened. Even though the very idea of getting close to Merce turned me on, the thought of screwing her set me on fire and had my head spinning in circles.

I should be thinking about Rachel's possible accomplice. Not this.

Still, I couldn't get last night out of my mind. When we were talking by the fire, it was hard to not flirt. I'd imagined slipping that gown down as she sat in the sand among the smoke. How beautiful would her nipples look within the fire's light? How much could I make her moan?

Damn Steve. I'm just going to have to go talk to her. Where's the harm in that? Against all sanity, I showered, dressed, and stepped outside. The sun had heated up the sand. It took a while for my feet to get used to the warmth, and I was thankful for the cool breeze.

Steve had already left Merce. She'd returned to reading her book.

So close to sunset, no one walked the beach. Although our section and Merce's sister's bed and breakfast property were surrounded by private sands, usually a couple people were around jogging. Not anymore. The day was close to ending.

Just say hi and then find Steve. I repeated to myself.

When I approached Merce, she looked up from her book. "Oh look, it's Samuel. Your brother said you'd been sleeping in bed all day. He gave me twenty bucks to cheer you up."

"Just twenty?"

"Yep." She pulled it out from her book. "I plan on buying a house now."

I laughed. "My brother should mind his business."

A guy rode by on a bike with a radio tied to the back, blasting music in the air. I caught the melody and smiled. He was playing one of my sister's songs.

Merce turned his way. "Isn't that one of Stacy's song?"

"Yeah. I think that's "Sapphire'."

"I love her stuff. How cool is it to have a sister that's a pop star?"

"Cool, but life isn't as different for me as it is for her. For me, Stacy has always been my baby sister and she's always sang. And to tell you the truth, I've always been her number one fan, so nothing has really changed for me. For her, she's freaking out. I'm just glad the world now sees her genius."

"Stacy will be fine. She's the sweetest Evans."

"And me?"

"The dorky one. That's why we were always tight."

"Because you're one."

"Exactly."

Like a moron, I sat down next to her. I had no idea why I did. That hadn't been part of the plan. Maybe it was because she closed her book and smiled at me, rising to a sitting position. She looked so welcoming and warm. I just wanted to bathe in her light for a few seconds.

"How's the healing going?" I asked.

She held her hands together in prayer. "I can feel my heart slowly stitching itself back together again."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really?"

"No, Samuel." She showed me her middle finger. "I'm just trying to be positive, while being in a fuck-the-world mood."

"Same ole Merce." I leaned back onto her blanket.

"And how is your escape from your life going?"

"I'm enjoying my darkness here more than when I was in New York." I looked out at the ocean.

"Interesting. Most run away from their darkness."

"I'm not scared to live in it. Blackness hides things that I don't want to see. It's like a cave, keeping me safely in and shutting the world out."

"You need light. Sometimes it's good to see everything around you, Samuel."

I turned back to her. "So, you've called me Samuel a few times after I asked you last night to stop."

"What? Oh." She fake pouted. "I'm so sorry. I keep forgetting."

"No, you're not sorry."

"What? I really am."

"Now, you owe me."

"Fine. I guess I do." Those words sounded so sweet coming from her. "How can I make it up to you?"

I inhaled the teasing scent of her. Images of Merce naked came to my head. "Yes. Let's discuss the many ways you could make it up to me."

"I could bake a cake."

I frowned. "I'm not a fan of sweets."

"I could write a poem."

"I feel like I've heard enough of your poems in my lifetime and your songs and raps, too."

"Hey, I could've been a big star."

"Sure you really could have. Your singing voice is fabulous, but your rapping skills were not quite as spectacular, but let's get back to you making it up to me."

She shrugged. "What do you want? I can't think of anything."

I licked my lips. "I could."

"Wait a minute." She widened her eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"You don't want to know. I could think of many ways you could make it up to me, but your heart and mind wouldn't be ready."

"That's a lot of big talk coming from you."

I wanted to tell her that there would be a lot of big things coming from me, if she was stupid enough to take that step, but I left it alone.

What am I doing? Why am I flirting? This is stupid.

But still, I couldn't walk away. A white ibis flew by with its scarlet, down-curved bill and red legs. He spread his black-tipped wings out, probably searching for shrimp and crab.

Merce turned attention to where I was looking. "That bird is on a serious hunt."

"Yeah. He'll find something. He's determined."

"Did you know that Egyptians used to worship the ibis? They had this bird-headed god and even pharaohs were buried alongside mummified ibis."

"And why do you know that?"

"I'm a fan of odd facts." She changed the subject. "And what did you do last night after I left?"

"I stared at a blank canvas again."

"That sucks. Do you do that often?"

"This past year I've been doing it a lot. I'm blocked."

"I never asked you what you did?"

"I own a media company. Painting has just been an obsessive hobby of mine."

"I remember. You always loved art and creating things."

"Yeah. Now painting is my addiction. It's one of the only things that gets me out of bed." I gestured back at my family's house. "I changed my mother's sewing room into an art studio a few years back. I used to come here all the time and paint with my..."

Wife...Rachel...Damb. Think of something else.

"With what?" Merce asked.

"The whole point is that I'm losing interest in the one thing that makes me happy."

"Maybe you need to find another muse or go to some type of therapy that is all about using art to heal yourself from whatever is getting in the way of your life."

"I doubt I can heal from what I've been through by picking up a pencil."

"I bet you could."

"No. I have another idea. Maybe you should model for me?" I'd blurted it out. Once the words left, I immediately regretted them. This was one of my moves—an old habit. Paint a woman as she modeled for me nude and have her begging to suck my cock before the paint dried.

What am I doing? What's going on with my head today?

She suddenly appeared bashful and flustered and in that moment, I'd forgotten my doubts. "You'd want to paint me?"

Why not? She's beautiful. It would just be painting. This way I can play with my skills and get my creative energy working and maybe taste her...Damn it. Remember. Don't fuck Merce.

I nodded. "Yes. Model for me tomorrow."

"Uh..."

"It won't be long. No more than an hour, although I would want more time."

"How much time?"

That question triggered nasty thoughts, but I reminded my dick and myself that this was not the type of woman to invite into my bed.

"It would just be a few times," I said. "You would control how long and when we stop."

"Hmm."

"Look at it this way. You would be helping me rediscover my passion. Painting for me... it's more than what the piece will look like."

She gazed at me with this intense look. "Then, what is it?"

"I lost myself one day... long ago... and sometimes, when I'm sliding the paint onto the canvas, I remember the good things about me."

Silence passed between us.

I was glad she didn't ask what had happened. Normal questions were hard to answer. I didn't like to hold in secrets, but I wasn't a fan of telling people the hidden things about me.

However, since the time I was a kid, I'd been a truthful person. When things were broken or in disarray at the house, Mom called me instead of my siblings. She always knew that I'd rat out the person, even if it was me.

And most of the time, it was me.

I don't want to lie to Merce. I hope she never asks.

For some reason, I'd never really learned to lie, or more like I never figured out the benefits of lying. So, after a while, the truth of my life became depressing. No one wanted to hang out with the tortured man. No sane person invited the dark guy to dinner.

And same with women. Once they realized the reality of me, how broken I really was, they tried to fix me. But I couldn't be fixed. Too many puzzle pieces had gone missing in the chaos. And so, they left too—always covered in tears.

But Merce asked a question and didn't pry further. She respected the lines that others wouldn't. It was like she got me more than I understood myself.

Instead of asking me what happened, she said, "I would love to see your work."

My heart boomed in my chest and I couldn't figure out why. I was confident in my art. I'd made good money off it, before starting Evans Media. But with Merce, I wanted to impress her. What will I show her?

"However, I'm not sure about modeling for you." She rose from her towel, giving me a beautiful view of that perfect body. "Believe it or not, I'm shy."

"You're not."

"I am." She dusted the sand from her thighs. "Maybe I can come over and see your paintings? What do you think?"

It took me several seconds to answer. The whole time I'd been focused on those thighs and her saying come.

"When can I come?" she asked.

My cock hardened. "Twelve would be a good time."

I am not screwing her. Calm down.

"Cool," she said.

"You're leaving so soon?"

"It's almost sunset. My sister is doing a big dinner for the guests and running a game of poker."

"What's she cooking?"

"Sheep souse. Every now and then, she likes to get the guests out of their comfort levels. Clearly, she'll have some chicken souse available too."

Souse was an old English word for something pickled. Most Bahamians like Grace cooked their exotic meats like sheep's head or pig's feet with a thin broth, which qualified as souse. A few ate it for breakfast and threw a few Johnnycakes on the side which was a type of bread that went back longer than the islands.

"You should come," she said.

That word come hit me again in the wrong ways.

I cleared my throat. "No. We'll see each other enough tomorrow."

"Cool. What should I wear?"

"Nothing at all."

She laughed. "What?"

"I want to paint you in the nude."

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

"What's the big deal? We used to skinny-dip all the time."

"That was when we were young, and I never agreed to model for you."

"I thought you said yes."

"I didn't and I'm definitely not taking my clothes off."

"I've seen you naked before, Cherry Coke. I doubt you've changed that much," I lied. Those breasts were plumper than I remembered. They sat on her chest like lush melons. Those hips had expanded into cock-hardening awesomeness. If she decided to model for me naked, I would go hard and be drooling all over her.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

"Hmmm." She twisted her lips to the side. "I've never modeled for anyone, and especially not in the nude."

"Then good. You'll be jumping into something new. All the self-help books say that taking risks in life puts you on the path to healing."

"They do. I've read that too." She nodded. "Interesting. I never thought you were the type to read self-help books."

"There was a time when I tried to get better and read tons of those books."

She brightened. "Oh wow. Did they work?"

"No. Not at all. They were a complete waste of time."

"Really? Mr. Freaking Sunshine to the rescue again." She sighed. "Nude modeling?"

"Very nude. Yes." I signed a cross in front of me. "And I would be the perfect gentleman. I'll even give you the painting when I'm done."

"That would be so cool, but I can't pose." She shook her head and that cute blush returned. "I'm too shy."

"Everyone is scared at first."

"I couldn't."

"You're a big-time author. I'll be framing the icon of our century."

"An icon that's very nude. I don't think so."

I had looked Merce up. Her first book was an erotic story with an island setting—one similar to Key West. In fact, she had seven books in that series and people appeared to love it. She penned several more about a group of spies that fell in love with the women involved in their missions. Lots of women raved about her online. I read their blogs and tweets, laughing at their obsessive shouts of glee, demanding book number eight be written soon. The public loved her. She'd hit the New York Times in her debut and continued to top the list with later releases.

"How did you know I wrote?" she asked.

"I looked you up."

"I feel bad. I didn't look you up."

"Good. It means that you're not nosy."

"I actually am. I was just tired. I'll look you up tonight."

"I don't want you to look me up."

"Why not? You've always been a freaking boy scout. I doubt you did time in jail for mass murder or global terrorism."

I forced a smile. "Yeah...it's not that bad."

I guess.

She checked her watch. "Dang it. I was already supposed to be up there." She frowned at me. "Next time, come out earlier. I want to hang out with you."

"Then let me paint you tomorrow."

She shook her head. "Thanks for the offer, but I can't. I'm too much of a prude."

"I understand." I got up from her towel and helped her dust off the sand, fold it, and handed it to her. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Maybe on the beach," she said.

"But not in my studio?"

"No. That's not happening."

"Damn it. Then, I think I need a doctor."

"Why?"

I covered my face. "Because you've just broken my heart!"

"Oh, stop it." She left in the most delicious way, twisting those hips and laughing. And I watched those beautiful globes of her ass bounce and jiggle.

I came damn close to racing after her and taking her away.I am not screwing Merce. I needed to calm the hell down.


	3. Chapter 3

**This is a big chapter two chapters combined into one big fat one. Thanks again for reading, reviewing, following, and making this story a favorite. Standard Disclaimer of owning nothing and if things are wrong or weird I am on a lot of cold medicines at this time so blame it on the meds.**

**Chapter 3**

_Mercedes_

It felt weird being back at Heartbreak Hotel. I scanned the space and couldn't believe I'd returned. For the past five years, I was certain Artie would be the man I'd love forever. Now here I am again overwhelmed with memories both happy and sad. Bumping into Sam hadn't helped the weird sensations, either. Last night, I kept waking up to the oddest dreams of him and me as kids—skinny-dipping, trick or treating, and that one winter's mistletoe disaster where he kissed my closed eyelids instead of my mouth.

My head wouldn't let me out of the past. It was like the universe was forcing me to look at Sam and his presence in my younger days. By morning, I woke with barely any sleep. I ended up being exhausted all day, feeling like I'd just fought a time machine and the damn thing won.

Later, I sat in front of my laptop and couldn't even muster the energy to write. I was sure my publisher would be sending me a hateful email soon. I'd signed a three-book deal to write whatever I had been suffering from writer's block since my breakup with Artie.

I hated this feeling. Always running away from my problems. Never learning from my mistakes. There was all this fear inside of me; fear that my fate lay in only my weakened hands. Fear that my damaged brain couldn't complete the unwritten stories in my head. Fear that I had nothing worthwhile for anyone to read. Fear lay behind and ahead. Half of the time, the process of becoming a writer dealt with learning how to accept oneself. After this Artie debacle, I'd lost who I was or who I thought I was. Artie and I were the best of friends. How could a friend, lover, and someone who I had given my all to treat me this way?

I decided that thinking about Artie just made me more depressed so I sought out the company of my sister. She kept me so busy that I was able to use the distractions to help me temporarily forget my turmoil. After serving a hectic dinner, I went back upstairs to the attic that had been converted into my apartment to finally pass out in bed.

When I woke up several hours later, I spent the rest of the night getting comfortable, which pretty much meant hooking up the TV and unloading all my junk and finally charging my cell phone.

My phone buzzed, and I checked the screen and frowned. It was several messages from my ex. What the hell did he want?

Artie: Mercedes, I swear. I'm innocent.

He'd been texting those lines since I'd left him.

Me: How can U be innocent when I walked in on a woman giving you a blow job?

Artie: Answer the phone. Let me explain.

Me: No.

Artie: Then, fine. We're done.

I put the phone down and sighed. The damn thing buzzed again. I picked it up and checked.

Artie: When U left, U took all my books?

Me: I bought those books and U never read them.

Artie: Doesn't matter. I want them back.

Me: Ur so full of crap. If U can freaking even name one book's title, I may consider shipping them back to u!

Artie: The Jane Austin ones and those ones by the sisters.

Me: U don't even know the titles!

He didn't respond. Feeling nice and petty, I delivered a long line of laughing-to-tears emojis. I wished there was a go-fuck-yourself emoji.

I didn't know why, but Artie liked to bother me. It wasn't enough that he'd cheated and broken my heart. Now he texted me about trivial things as if trying to get me back for something. What did he expect me to do when I'd walked in on him and another girl? Did he think I would stay after that? Did he think it would all be the same, that I needed to marry him?

He'd been a spoiled brat our whole relationship. His parents had money and took care of him. Once we got together, I took over their job. I cleaned, I cooked, I washed his dirty drawers and picked up his dishes. He'd go out and party at night. I'd stay in our apartment and write. The more I thought back to our relationship, the more I knew we really hadn't been a match.

Just as I was about to put my phone back down, it buzzed again.

Artie: Those books are mine.

Me: So...Ur freaking serious? U cheat on me and demand I give you back books that I bought u that u didn't read?

Artie: I want my books back.

Sighing, I cracked my fingers and prepared to give him a text-lashing.

Me: Well, I want those 5 years back! I'm sorry, but I won't give the books back. You know nothing about great words. You don't appreciate beauty, you just throw good things away. And the books were good! And I was good! And so, we're leaving together!

I shut the phone off and returned to my room. Sadly, part of me was glad that Artie was still thinking of me, even though it was just to be an asshole. After all these years together, there were parts of me that still yearned for him.

I hadn't fled LA because I hated him. I'd rushed off because the more days I loved him, the more I continued to hate myself.

I stared back at the phone and considered turning it back on to see if Artie replied. Remembering how I supported myself in LA by being a background singer and singing at clubs while my writing career was being launched. How Artie said he fell in love with my voice first and my mind second and then my body last. His charm was my downfall along with his friendship. We were two struggling artists trying to make it and now that Artie thought he had made it; maybe he didn't think I was enough for him and then realized after I had gone that no one could love him better than me.

I had some self respect finally course through my veins and I decided just to stop the madness and ignore him and his crazy texts.

These past days had been mentally exhausting. So many memories had run through my mind. I recalled past conversations, reevaluating every word. Artie's silent moments and odd behavior began to make sense. The late nights, the fact that we hadn't had sex in over nine months. His wanting us to be celibate to make the honeymoon more special being his excuse. After analyzing clue after clue, I began beating myself up, wondering why I hadn't noticed the signs.

Forget about it. You can't change the past. I reminded myself. Get your mind off Artie. He doesn't deserve the attention.

When I finished unpacking, I shut off the lights and decided to go to sleep.

A huge window lay next to my bed. I rested my head on the pillow and watched moonlit waves crash into each other. There was nothing else to see. With the night here, the great white herons didn't linger in backyards or on the beach, hunting for food. They were now asleep in their lofty stick nests atop the mangroves of remote rookery keys.

Sam's house lay directly in my view. All the rooms were pitch black, except the one on the second floor. I wondered if it was his.

Don't think about Artie. If anything, think about Sam. I didn't know if I was imagining things, but Sam was flirting on the beach this afternoon. Lust glazed in his eyes. Or it could've just been me, projecting my own feelings of thirst.

I can't believe he asked me to nude model for him. Should I have said yes? If I can do a funeral pyre on the beach in a formal gown, surely taking off my clothes and being painted wouldn't be crazy.

Our conversation on the beach had been interesting, acquiring a sense of carefulness. Boundaries were tested. Something had happened to him and it didn't seem like he wanted to talk about it. I wasn't going to make him either. We all had our problems in life, just getting by anyway we could. I wouldn't even look it up on Google. If he wanted to tell me what happened one day, I would listen and let him unload his demons.

For now, we would just participate in a little harmless flirting. Was it harmless? And were we just flirting?

Sam had a way of focusing on me that flattered my bruised ego. So gorgeous and charming, a few days with that man and I could drown in a false sense of security. He didn't even try to hide it. It was like he kept warning me to never think he was an option for love, but still heating me up. I thought about that cheesy warning he would give to other women.

"I would be your death wish. You should guard your heart when you're around me."

All lies. It had to be. I had many memories with Sam and he'd never hurt me. He'd always been there holding and protecting me.

"_Who pushed you down?" Samuel towered over me. "Azimio or Phil?"_

_I got up from the sand and wiped myself off. "Azimio, but I'm going to kick Phil's butt too."_

_"Yeah," Samuel had said. "Me too."_

_On the beach, Azimio and Phil were now far off in the distance closer to their house. We ran their way. The evil boys had taken our boat and paddles and were now dragging it toward the ocean._

_"We have to stop them." I zipped past Samuel who could barely keep up. His belly jiggled as he waddled forward, huffing and puffing with each step._

_Phil and Azimio turned our way, stopped what they were doing, and fell on the ground laughing at us._

_Samuel and I must've been a ridiculous sight—a big chubby white boy and black girl with an Afro._

_Granted, I'd been singing the adventure song too, pumping us up._

_"To the rescue! To the res-cue, my friend!" I sang with a roar. "We're going to whip your butts. We're going to make you scream! To the res-cue."_

_Azimio and Phil were now rolling over in laughter, unable to get control of themselves. Our boat washed away with a wave. But it didn't matter. We would swim out to get it after we kicked some villain behind._

_"To the res-cue, my friend!"_

_Samuel didn't sing because he was barely keeping up and catching his breath. And he thought the song was stupid. Regardless, I sang loud enough for the both of us._

_"To the rescue! To the res-cue, my friend!" I jumped on Azimio, punching him in the face just like Tracy had taught me._

_"Ah!" Azimio screamed._

_My fingers cracked. I figured I broke them, but it didn't matter._

_"We're going to kick your butt." I socked him in his gut. "We're going to make you scream." I kneed him in the balls. "To the rescue!"_

_"Get her off me!" Azimio cried and pushed me away._

_I rolled onto the sand and looked behind me._

_Samuel was a mountain. All he had to do was crash into Phil and it was game over. Phil lay under Samuel in the sand, begging for his life. "Please, I'll give it back. Just get off me! I'll do anything!"_

_I roared in victory. "To the rescue, my—"_

_"Cherry Coke, enough," Samuel said. "Get the paddles."_

_"Good idea. I can hit Azimio with them." I rose._

_"No!" Azimio raced to his house screaming. "You both are crazy!"_

_I laughed. "You better run!"_

_"Cherry Coke." Samuel kept a crying Phil, to the ground. "Get the paddles and run away before he goes and gets his mom."_

_"That's right." I nodded._

We got into so much trouble that day.

No one ever understood our super hero adventures.

Back in the attic, I laughed until tears spilled from my eyes. For one minute, I considered getting up and going over to Sam and telling him about that moment. He would've probably thought I was crazy and forgot about it all.

These memories had come back for a reason. The universe was always saying something. Every day there were signs, if one chose to see them.

Maybe the universe is saying that Sam's friendship is just what I need to heal.

He damn sure had healed me long ago. I wouldn't have gotten through mourning my parents without him. I didn't know why the universe had brought him back into my life or what purpose he would hold, but I was willing to listen and experience it all.

Sam would be a fun distraction for this week or however long he decided to stay. But nothing more. Just friends. Relationship wise, Sam was probably the type of guy who would run me in circles, and then move on to the next woman without a glance over his shoulder. He was a Evans boy after all.

Nothing more. Just a fun distraction. A renewal of a wonderful friendship. Nothing else.

As a chilly breeze came in, I gazed out the window and lay within my warm blankets.

A couple walked on the beach in the moonlight—a blonde woman and a tall, dark-haired man. The woman wore a little black dress that fit her model-thin body like a second skin. She didn't look happy, a frown on her face as she gazed away from the guy walking next to her. Every time he tried to grab her hand, she smacked it away. He said something to her and she shook her head and wiped her eyes.

I wonder what he did.

I rolled over in the bed, not caring to look at another woman's heartbreak.

Been there and done that.

In that moment, I realized that the best part of being alone was no more crying myself to sleep at night.

* * *

_Sam_

My ex-wife, Rachel had never given me any indication that she was psychotic. She was always happy—always joking about this or that, always giving me gifts and leaving me notes on how she loved me. For God's sake, when she wrote the letter o, she put a smiley face in it. And always signed her name with a star.

Rachel, the Mantis, had been the first woman I dated in college. She was a couple of years older than me and I'd met her through Steve. They'd been part of a private club—disturbed pre-law students that met on the weekends and tried to break down gory unsolved true crimes. At the time, I didn't think she'd started killing. My investigators had never discovered any victims in her past although there'd been some unexplained instances with her pets dying. Nonetheless, the college years were when she elevated her interest in murder.

Because I had been an overweight teen. Rachel was the first woman I had ever seriously dated. We took each other's virginity and Steve tried to tell me that I was stupid for proposing to the first female I had ever had sex with, but I thought I was finally in love and over Merce. Three years later, we graduated and moved in together. Another year and I proposed with my grandmother's wedding ring. I believed that I was lucky to have found her. Not one time we argued. There was never a heated moment. My friends envied the ease of our relationship.

It had been too easy. Too fake. And I would've noticed, if I'd really paid attention. And then men started dying around me. And I never knew it was all due to her until the end.

Who would? How many people would assume that their lover was a psychopath? Who would ever think that the person they kissed at night had just been stabbing their friend to death?

I had to stop thinking about it. Breathing hard, I returned my mind back to my bedroom. If I was going to think about someone, I should think about Merce. Several days had passed since I talked to her. There was only this one morning where I'd gone outside to find inspiration. I held my camera and snapped images of the dawning sun and the chocolate brown pelicans, diving twenty feet above the waters and scoring the area of fresh fish. I'd even caught a white pelican with its ten-foot wingspan and long yellow beak herding fish into an ever-narrowing circle.

I'd marveled at those winged-hunters, but then I'd caught sight of my own prey. Merce. Grace, Merce, and other female guests had strolled outside. They all wore yoga clothes, but Merce's pants fit her the best. It made me want to pull the thin fabric away and take her hard right on the sand. I held my camera mid-air, unable to focus on anything but her.

Merce waved at me and I forced myself to nod back. And then Grace started her yoga class and my erection came as Merce got on all fours, sticking that fat ass up into the air. She'd had me hot for her, so fucking hot I could barely think or snap a damn picture. And as Merce shifted in and out of lovely flexible positions, all I could think about was her being naked under me. My skin warmed. Look away. I ordered myself repeatedly.

Jesus. I feel like I'm going through puberty again. My cock remained hard as a rock and I couldn't stop from staring at Merce as she shifted into another position. Her hands and feet were on the ground, but her plump ass was high in the air.

That would be perfect in my bedroom.

How good would it be to slip my cock between those thighs and feel her wet sex hugging it? I would've done and paid anything to stuff my cock into her in that moment. I could see it all in my head. Even her on her knees, licking my length, nuzzling my balls, sperm busting out the tip, spilling and spurting. Thick, hot white liquid, dripping down her pretty face. So horny, I could think of nothing else but ripping her pants down, taking her in front of the whole goddamn yoga class, driving my cock deep into her, and clenching my ass in and out as I shoved and thrusted inside her. And from that moment, the days passed on, trance-like and pregnant. Sexual magic thickened in the air whenever I saw her.

Last night, I slept for a few hours and then woke up with one thought. I must paint her. My mom used to say that art had the power to reshape reality. She'd home-schooled us. Painting wasn't a cool activity in our house, it was life. We created because it was just like eating food and drinking water. Mom said our spirits needed it. In many ways, she was just as much a hippy as Merce. Mom thought art was the solution for everything. Feel bad? Draw something. Life's disrupted and dark? Write about it. Want to kill somebody because they did you wrong? Put it in a song and sing yourself to sleep.

But why didn't Mom say that after Rachel? Maybe it was because she had been just as much of a mess as me. In fact, my whole family had grown dark. We'd all loved Rachel and she'd made us sick and contagiously depressed.

Could I heal from this? Some wounds could be too deep. Too impossible to survive.

By the end of the week, madness came over me. I rose from bed and rushed to my studio, taking off all my clothes. Maybe it was Merce's talk of ceremonies. There was a beauty in that idea of doing something symbolic to heal. It was crazy, of course, but what was the true definition of crazy? I'd seen enough insanity in these past months of court to realize that the whole world was insane.

If I get her on the canvas, then this horny haze will go away. Sometimes, when I painted, I barely slept or ate. The colors represented my slumber. The easel was my nourishment. This will work. Naked, I stood around the room, rocked my head to the music that filled the space, and painted Merce.

My sister Stacy sang, "I want you body and soul, dive deep until we lose control."

Merce smiled at me from the canvas. Granted, my brush did her no justice. I needed her in front of me. All I could do was put down all the lovely details that I'd thought about recently as I closed my eyes.

Since seeing her again, she'd seeped into my head and refused to let go.

Paint dripped from the tip of my brush as I held it in my hand. I wanted to paint away the madness, but the dark feeling inside me hadn't left, it rose and thickened.

If anything, I belonged to expressionism art. I liked my paintings to evoke emotion. The relationship between colors helped bring the canvas to life. Contrast mattered. The difference in tones and shades mattered. A picture painted with cool blue tones differed from the same image done in warm reds. Both triggered diverse emotions. Yellow appeared much brighter next to violet than white, and There was something about the darkness that made other things appear bright.

Color ended where another began and was defined by the tones around it.

I wish life was that simple. I wish a person was defined by the others around him.

If that was reality, I would've surrounded myself with Merce.

I stared at her eyes on the canvas and was left wanting more, knowing that I needed to paint her while she was in front of me, not from images in my mind.

Stacy continued to sing, "Every part of you I want to feel."

I spent several seconds forming her lush lips and the sexy curve of her chin, but still it wasn't enough. I could play with the composition and light as well as toy with color, but in the end, a living model provided the true energy.

I needed Merce naked in front of me.

"With you, I lose all control," Stacy groaned over the song. "I'm so lovesick."

Merce flashed in my head—her smile, scent, voice. How beautiful it would be to make her come.

The more I painted her, the more my cock went stiff in my pants.

"The closer to you, the closer to death, the closer to God. Then, I lose my breath." Stacy sung over the heavy bass. "I want to be with you body and soul, dive deep, until we both lose control."

Stacy would've been happy to see me dancing and painting to her song. If Steve saw I was out of bed, he'd probably lose his mind with joy. He'd brought a few women around the house, asking them if they wanted to model for me, on three separate occasions. All three women had said yes, but I'd said no. They'd been pretty, but none were the one. The right model. A perfect muse became the very source of an artist's expression. And I'd found no one to fit that place.

I'd explained this very fact to Steve.

He laughed. "Bullshit. You just want to paint and screw Merce and she won't let you."

"Merce would be perfect. Her look is unique. The beautiful curly hair and the chocolate skin. The curves. Those beautiful eyes."

"Jesus. It's like we're fucking kids again. Are you going to follow her around the Keys like you used to?"

"Things are different." I flexed the muscles on my chest just to speak his douche bag language. "I follow no one."

"Yeah. Yeah. You're a stud." He laughed some more. "This vacation is going to be interesting. How long will we be here?"

"A few months at least. I don't know."

He shook his head. "So, basically, we're staying as long as Merce is here."

I shrugged.

"Good. You're finally on the Merce hunt. Now I can really take a vacation. All my work paid off."

I eyed him. "What work?"

"Don't worry about that."

The studio door opened. I figured it was Steve, but it ended up being one of his chicks. She'd barged in on me before, and I'd nicely asked her to leave.

"Every part of you I want to know—"

I turned the song off and with my back turn towards her I began to quickly dress starting with my shirt. "Steve's room is in the other direction."

She didn't turn around and leave like I hoped she would. She shook her head. "You're naked again?"

"And you're barging in again?" I reached for my jeans and put them on.

I barely took off my clothes due to the ribbons of damaged flesh decorating my abs. The area was a mad woman's canvas of sick artistic pleasure. During those two days of torture, Rachel had painted on me with hooks and knives, a lighter, and even her own teeth. She'd even cut a smiley faced O near my heart.

What the hell does this chick want? I zipped up my jeans. "What do you need?"

"Do you remember my name?" She sashayed further into the studio.

In the past week since we'd been here, Steve brought a new female home every night. But this one was his day girl—the only woman he hung around with when the sun was out. And this one had left a big impression among the staff as she moaned all afternoon from my brother's bedroom, and never wore clothes when she grabbed food from the kitchen.

Thankfully, she has clothes on now.

Not a bad body, this evening her white dress clung to nice breasts and slim hips. She shouldn't have been in that color. She was too dirty for that shade.

I crossed my arms around my chest. "Your name is Kitty."

She clapped. "Thank you. That's not hard, right? Your brother can't seem to remember my name."

"Maybe you should wear a name tag."

"Funny." She began to walk over to me. "All I came in here was for a pen for some letters your brother wanted me to write for him. Do you want me to stay so you can paint me?"

"No." I gestured behind me. "Steve is in his room. You should go in there or go home."

She rolled her eyes. "I was just being friendly."

"I'm not the friendly type."

"I see." She stomped off.

When she left, I made sure the door was locked.

Something about Kitty rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn't put my finger on it, but after my ex, I'd learned to trust my intuition. If a woman gave me a dark feeling, I moved on to someone else and didn't over-rationalize why. Now this chick had broken me out of my concentration. I knew Stevie was into her because she reminded him of a poor man's Quinn. But she was way more crazier than Quinn had ever been. Steve was crazy too so maybe that was what drew him to entitled blondes. Although Quinn inside had a heart of gold but she just couldn't tolerate Steve's desire to work hard and not start the family that she wanted so desperately.

An unfinished Merce gazed back at me, begging me to complete her. I couldn't because I needed her the real Mercedes Jones here in the flesh. I needed her in front of me.

I walked over to the window. A pale blue sky hovered over. The clouds glowed in many colors—burning oranges, dots of lavender, striking violets. Darkness lay off in the distance, threatening to bring a storm with it. Already the trees swayed back and forth with a wind that had picked up its pace. I scanned the beach and spotted her talking with some of her sister's guests. She was aring jeans and a simple black shirt with words on the front. I read them and chuckled. "Introverts Unite! We're here. We're uncomfortable and want to go home!"

Although her jeans and shirt were loose-fitting, she still couldn't hide that amazing body. Her breasts were lush melons, but not fake or over-emphasized with tiny clothes. They barely hid as they stretched the t-shirt a little, taunting me with a little jiggle as she walked over to another group and pointed toward the waters. Those hips curved just right. What does she look like naked? I wonder if she would skinny-dip with me again?

The image of that tight little sex came to mind. I bet it was barely touched, if not at all. Merce didn't look like she had many lovers. I doubt she'd ever been with a real man. If she had, she wouldn't be here. Any good man would've held onto her. If she were mine, she wouldn't be here by herself. Fire blazed in my chest. This wasn't the sort of feeling I enjoyed, this sort of fascination to learn everything about a woman. This burning hunger to want to dissect her, grab her and open her mind up, letting her contents spill all over the floor—the heartbreak and trauma, the anguish and bad memories. Let it all fall around me and use it to paint.

What was I doing? I needed to stop. Frozen, I stood right there like an idiot. Why couldn't I move? My erection pressed against my jeans. The tip swelled so bad I wanted to grab it and stroke the need away. She would be a lovely distraction from the nightmares. Merce was the answer. Already, I painted her face in my canvas. Already, I whispered her name on my lips and tasted how sweet it would sound. Already, I wondered if someone had touched her, and how I could teach her so many things. Already, upon just looking at her, the spark ignited in my chest and my fingers itched to create something amazing—something as amazing as her eyes.

On the beach, she left the group of people and walked toward my house's direction. Seconds later, she looked up at my window, smiled, and waved. I wondered if she felt me watching or had she been glancing at my house all day, wondering what I was doing? My cock threatened to come out of my pants. Thank God, I had some control of him or she would've been in my house, on the floor, pants down, and my face buried between those thighs.

I waved back.

She blew me a kiss.

I pretended to catch it as I whispered to myself, "Careful, Cherry Coke, I really want to screw you. I bet no one's ever showed you the right way to make love. How good it can feel. I bet any guy you've been with was immature and unskilled. I want to show you how a real man makes loves to a woman."

My eyes picked up every distinct shade of color that made her so breathtaking. I'd already decided which paints I would put on my palette to capture her. And I would capture her—on paint and even... in other ways. My body was this constant drumming of hunger. If I could just get her image on the canvas, maybe I would gain control. I have to talk to her. There's no other option. She has to model for me. I am way too damaged for anything else. She'll just model for me and I'll be fine.

Now on a mission, I showered and threw on some clothes. I had to approach this situation with a subtle gentleness. I knew damn well that I wanted her in front of me and naked. Painting would be the start, but my hands had to touch that soft flesh, my lips had to taste her. I couldn't rush this, but I couldn't let this go on for too long. Time brought emotions and love. We could never take it there. How do I figure her out? How do I get her to say yes?

Hours later, I found myself in the island's local bookstore_ Words Forgotten_. Many came from three hours away to experience its quirky decor and amazing treats. It was known not only for its impressive architecture of marble ceilings and statuesque pillars, but rather for its narrow hallways jam-packed with books upon books. Besides the plush carpet, novels covered every single inch of space. Many dangled from the ceiling. There must've been thousands of them. Today was the first time I noticed a picture of Merce near the middle room. The image was old and had been taken when she'd had a book signing here. One of her books should be here. It took barely five minutes to find a shelf with her works. I held Merce's first book in my hands like she stood right in front of me. As a secret bibliophile, for me, choosing the right book was like choosing a lover. One had to take their time and caress each new cover. But I already knew this book would be good. It would be a secret look into her world, her sexual thoughts.

What turns her on? Curiosity burned in my fingertips. I wanted to open the book and devour every page. Even more, I wanted to open her like this book. The clerk came up to me, an old man with a receding hairline. "Do you need any help?"

"No." I didn't know why but I hid the novel behind my back. "I'm fine. I know what I want."

"Okay." He glanced at the shelf where I'd taken Merce's book as if trying to figure out what I was hiding. "If you need help, just let me know."

I've been staring at the damn book for a good twenty minutes. He probably thinks I'm crazy. Just as I was about to head to the clerk, Merce's beautiful voice interrupted my thoughts. "You don't have to buy that. I can send you a copy."

Merce? I turned around. Our gazes met. Although I towered over her, she made a strong presence in front of me. Energy buzzed around her. Why does she do this to me?

She captivated me, piercing brown eyes and beautiful smile. I could've spent all day painting her face alone. I already knew the colors I would use to get her glow just right on the canvas. Gorgeous.

She smiled. "You must be quite a lady's man back in New York."

"Why do you say that?"

"Every time you look at me I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world."

I trailed my thumb along the outline of her book, wishing my fingers were touching her skin. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

She curved her sexy lips into a smile. "Yes, you're definitely a lady's man. Do you have miles of women waiting to give you their heart?"

"No, but I'm never alone unless I want to be."

"Interesting. And you want to be alone?"

"Not in this moment." I inhaled her sweet fragrance. "Are you following me?"

"I haven't taken up stalking yet." She gestured to a shelf near us. "I have to buy a book for my sister. I burned one of her copies on the beach the night I met you."

"I remember."

"I promised to get her a new one." She grabbed a big novel and waved it at me. "See. I'm not following you."

"Too bad. I was hoping you were stalking me."

"Nope. However, you're definitely stalking me." Merce grabbed her book from my hands and placed it back on the shelf. "You don't need to buy this. I'll send you a copy of this book, when I go back to LA."

Worry hit me. "When are you going back?"

"No time soon, but eventually I should go back."

"Why?"

She thought about my question and then shook her head. "Yeah...I don't know why. Maybe I don't need to go back. It's just my life... oh never mind. It doesn't matter."

I took her book back off the shelf. There was no way I was leaving without it. She glared at me as it sat in my hands.

"LA is a big place," I said. "Could you see yourself back here in Key West living the sleepy life?"

"Yeah. I can. I actually love the slow pace and the beach breeze." She reached for her book. "I said I will give you a copy."

I moved the book out of her reach. "I want to read it now."

Her expression went neutral.

"What?" I raised my eyebrows. "You don't want me to read it?"

"It would be weird."

I fake frowned, dramatizing sadness. "You never spend any time with me. Maybe if you visited I wouldn't need to find something to read."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it. I've seen women going in and out of your house this past week. Half-naked and very loud women, by the way. I thought you had higher standards, Mr. Sam."

"Jealous?"

"Of course not. Why would I be?"

"Yeah." I smiled. "Why would you be?"

She grinned. "Just my humble opinion."

"My brother brought them around, so I could get inspired to paint them."

"Were you inspired?"

"No. I had no time for them."

She smiled. "Too bad."

"Yeah. You look really sad about that." I placed her book behind me. "I want you to model for me."

A nervous laugh left her lips. "I thought we settled that I'm a punk ass when it comes to getting naked."

"Since when, Cherry Coke? You don't take chances anymore? Have some fun." I slipped my gaze along her body.

She had a slim waist and an hour glass shape. She wasn't thin. There were curves on that beautifully shaped body. She had lush hips and thick thighs that made me want to explore her. Already, I'd begun drawing her naked in my mind, tracing the lines of her curves, wondering how magical she would appear on my canvas.

"Once you model for me and see how beautiful I view you, you'll wonder why you took so long." I gripped her book tighter. "You're captivating."

Her face looked shocked as she murmured, "Thank you."

"Model for me."

She sighed.

"You've been thinking about saying yes? Right?" I hoped it was true. "How about this? You won't be completely nude, but you would have a small amount of clothes. Your skin is so beautiful. I want to paint it as much as possible."

"I've never modeled for anyone before."

"Good. Then, you'll have even more fun."

She bit her bottom lip and then said, "Define a small amount of clothes."

My heart grew excited.

"It's just laying down in a pose with something flattering draped over you. We can pick a comfortable position and how much you're covered." I tried something else. "Listen. It would be one thing if I just needed any woman to pose for me. But this is different. Since seeing you again, I've had this urge to paint you. I haven't had this feeling in years."

She quirked her eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"So, you were stuck? You had a painter's form of writer's block?"

"Exactly."

She shifted her weight to her other foot.

"You can't overthink this, Merce. You just should go for it. Where's the girl with the crazy fro, that made me sneak out of my house in the middle of the night to chase mermaids?"

She giggled. "We almost caught one, until Grace found us."

I leaned forward. "Remember when we used to skinny-dip?"

"Yes, it was the first time I'd ever seen an erection. It was only two seconds, before you ran away."

"Low blow, Merce. It was my first time having one."

"You were so embarrassed you wouldn't come out for a week."

"I wasn't like you as a kid. You would tear off your clothes and run in the water. I was big. I wasn't comfortable with my body and... being around you naked."

"And now I'm the uncomfortable one and you're Mr. Confident."

"Yes, and modeling for me will bring back that confidence that you should already have because trust me, Merce, you have nothing to be nervous about."

She blew out a long breath. "Okay. I'll model for you without exposing my whole body. That's cool?"

"Yes."

"What will we cover me in?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll think of something."

At that statement, dirty visions twisted in my head. I studied her some more, imagining her playing a major role in my nasty visions. My length stiffened in my pants and I had to calm myself down.

She disrupted my thoughts. "What would be the time commitment?"

"At least three sessions, each lasting three hours. If that's too much, I can change it. We could start tomorrow."

She tapped her finger against the shelf next to her. "That sounds good. What should I bring?"

"All you need to bring is yourself. No makeup or jewelry. I just want you in your natural state. Exquisite and intoxicating."

She widened her eyes.

"Painting is only a hobby," I continued, "but I take it seriously. It keeps my mind clear. Trust me. There will be nothing but respect."

"Okay."

"And it's not like I've never seen you naked."

"Must you keep reminding me?"

I licked his lips. "I'm hoping I can remind you enough, so you'll be comfortable again to tear off your clothes like you used to."

"Things are different now."

"How?" I held out my hands. "Back in the day, you could be yourself around me. You didn't worry about your body or my hurting you."

"I just wanted to have fun and swim."

"But now the games have changed?" I leaned my head to the side. "I'm not the fat kid anymore, I'm hot?"

She giggled. "Focus, Sam. Do you want me to pose for you or do you want to skinny-dip?"

"Both."

"Well, I'm only agreeing to posing."

"And I'll take that for now." I extended my hand. "Thank you, Merce. I can't wait."

She shook my hand and warmth shot from her fingertips.

Damn.

I licked my lips and walked off with the book.

She called after me, "Bring my book back over here."

"No way. New York Times said it was a great beach read."

"They did not."

"Well, I'm saying it." I headed to the cashier and left her behind me. Anticipation bubbled all through my body. It had been a long time since I'd been excited about tomorrow. Usually, my head remained drowning in misery.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I pretty much left this chapter somewhat unedited from Kenya Wright's Heartbreak Hotel. It was a good chapter. I may changed just a few things but not too much. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for your continued support.**

**Chapter 4**

_Mercedes_

Only Sam could have me rummaging through my closet early in the morning.

The yummy aroma of fresh Johnnycakes rose to the attic. Other islanders called them hoecakes. Either way, they were these firm slabs of cornmeal that were sweet and light in color like cornbread. When I was a kid, my mother told me that people used to call them journey cakes because they were portable and resisted spoiling. Nowadays, most used them to sop up sauces and gravies. I loved a big stack of them with coffee and covered in butter and jam.

I'll just look a little bit more, before snatching up some cakes.

My stomach growled. I should've rushed down to grab a few, before the guests beat me to it, but I had other things on my mind.

Last night, I hadn't slept much.

The couple I'd seen in the moonlight nights ago were back on the beach. This time the blonde woman was happy with the dark-haired man. They played and laughed, twirling around in the ocean. At one moment, they shed their clothes and dove into the dark waters, making love for a good hour.

I might've watched the whole time and wished I was them.

When the couple left, I couldn't help but think about Sam and me. It was foolish to think of us in that way, but still the thoughts came. And then the unnecessary insecurities. I told myself that I was just modeling for him and nothing more.

But still, stress kept me up. If I wasn't worried about what I would wear, I became nervous about what we would talk about. We'd played as kids. I'd spent the night over at his house once, when his dad let us camp outside to watch a meteor show. He'd ate at my house for one Thanksgiving. I'd ate at his for another.

I shouldn't have been a wreck.

I hope he doesn't realize how one of my breasts was bigger than the other.

Grace swore they were the same size. But each time I glanced in the mirror, I saw the truth. How could anyone else not see? The left clearly was way bigger than the right. I look like a lopsided alien and he's got this crazy notion to put it all on canvas.

But I couldn't ignore the fact that things had changed. Samuel—the funny kid next door with every comic book that ever existed—had now turned into a towering, muscular man.

An image of him naked and hard came to mind. I bet muscle covered every part of him, even that behind. It sure looked rock hard when he walked away from me in the bookstore. I'd wanted to bite his ass. And I wasn't that type of girl.

Biting ass was not my specialty.

But for his ass...I'd lick. I'd bite. Munch. Rub. Chomp. Squeeze and hump.

No man had ever incited so much craziness inside of me.

My phone buzzed. I checked the screen.

Artie: Mercedes, please, talk to me. I swear I can explain everything.

I shut the phone off and returned to rummaging in my closet. After an hour, I settled on a sundress. It had this soft, flowery material that flowed around my body in just the right ways. I'd always received compliments with this one. I wished I had something better to wear, but my funds were low and fashion sense took a back seat to keeping my bills paid while I lounged in the Keys.

For the past years, I'd been a struggling writer in LA. During the day, I worked as a background or session singer. I song at clubs on weekends. On weeknights, I typed away scenes that aroused readers. Writing and singing had kept my head above water. It took me five years to quit the singing job and be able to write full-time. Still, royalties were unpredictable. Some months, money rained down and I felt rich. Other times, my royalties resembled a no man's land of poverty and depression.

The book industry was a crowded circus, full of writers trying to outperform each other and climb to the top. I was determined to be a literary legend by staying true to my passion for words. Lately, I hadn't been able to write anything. I was just blocked due to my heartbreak. I hope this works out with Sam freeing both our creativeness, and thank God, I won't be naked.

Last night, I attempted to write, stumbling over one scene for hours. I got nowhere and ended up describing my hero with the same physical characteristics as Sam.I need to get my head in the game. I'd read that bestselling authors always made sure to have amazing lives. It helped them come up with great books. Many writers claimed that one must risk it all for their art. Go outside. Breathe in the energy flowing around us. Touch the sun. Kiss the earth. Make love to the sky. I need to be out here living, not moping around and sad over Artie. Modeling for Sam would be the perfect thing to get be back to writing.

After Artie, I knew what I didn't want. At least heartbreak helped in that way. It told me exactly what I didn't need in my life and forced me to consider new possibilities. I realized that I didn't want to be somebody's sad wife, sitting alone in a dark home. I wanted to be the type of a woman who saw the world—riding a helicopter over a volcano, driving a jeep during an African safari, surfing on exotic waves. I wanted a life that filled a captivating memoir. Something that changed a generation.

I laughed at myself. I want all this crazy stuff, yet the thought of posing naked for Sam scares the shit out of me.

Most of my anxiety came from insecurity. Would I be enough? Would he change his mind? Why would I ever agree to this?

Sam had that rich man air about him. I bet back home he dated women that spent hours planning their clothes and getting doted on in some high-end spa. I was not one of those women.

I had to stop thinking about that. He just wants you to model. Nothing else. I can't let there be anything else.

Nervousness delivered butterflies through my body the whole morning. By the time I had to head over to Sam's house, I was a bundle of jumbled nerves. My heart hammered in my chest. My palms sweated.

No big deal. Just pose and relax.

I had to throw all my insecurities in the trash. If Sam had a problem with my body or face, he wouldn't have asked me so many times.

It'll be fine.

I walked over to Sam's impressive family house. Some would argue that the Evans' property was a mini-mansion. Like my sister's bed and breakfast, it had four levels. A lush green landscape surrounded the place—all manicured and glowing in the sun. Four sports cars sat in the driveway.

It took everything in me to knock on his door. When I did, Emma showed me in. She was a small woman that had worked with Sam's family as long as I knew him. Now, she looked older with more wrinkles and a slow pace to her step. Her shoulder-length hair was more silver than red. Deeper lines had forged into the skin around her brown eyes, and fine lines had formed around her lips.

"Is that you, Merce?" Emma asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh my God." She pulled me into a long hug. "You look so beautiful. I knew you would be. You never age."

"Oh, thanks Emma. I might not look it but I feel every year." I smiled as I left her embrace.

Emma shook her head as she looked me up and down. "No wonder Samuel asked me to come over this week to prepare the house. Usually when the boys are visiting, they let me off, so they can have their debaucheries in private."

"I bet they party hard."

"They do, and they're nice enough to hire a cleaning crew to hide the evidence before I return." She gestured for me to come in. "How's your family?"

"They're doing good." I stepped inside. A dazzling chandelier hung within the circular foyer, and everything from the walls to the floor looked expensive.

"I don't go over to see your sister enough," Emma said behind me. "What do you think of the house's new look?"

"This is elegant."

She walked by and led me further ahead. "Samuel put a lot of money into remodeling."

"I see." I followed her. "Are the guys keeping you busy?"

"No, not enough. They're much tidier than when they were kids. I'm actually keeping busy with that new little site—Netflix. Oh, the shows you can watch. Do you ever look at it?"

"I have been known to binge watch some shows on Netflix."

"I don't understand how people leave their houses anymore. It's so much to see online."

"Yes. The crime shows on there are a secret addiction of mine."

"I'm a fan of the musicals." She guided me toward this huge marble staircase that wound upward into a spiral. Someone had carved flowers into the center of each step. The railing was black and gold. It curved and twisted into these pretty vines with blooming metal flowers on them.

"I'm glad you're going to let Samuel paint you. He's such a talented artist." She showed me into a bedroom. "Had he focused on art, instead of business and media, he might've been one of the world's greatest painter."

"I can't wait to see his art." I climbed the stairs. "Does his mother come and visit much?"

"No. She hasn't been here since Dwight passed."

Three months after Sam graduated from college, his father died in a plane crash. My sister had called me with the news. I'd tried to reach out to Sam, but he'd never returned my calls. I didn't blame him. When my parents died, I didn't want to talk to anyone either.

Losing a loved one was the hardest thing to recover from.

Was that why he seemed so dark? Maybe he didn't recover. Maybe he's still mourning his father.

"Samuel asked me to have you change your clothes in here." She guided me over to a huge closet full of breathtaking fur coats. "He wants you to wear one."

"Which one?" I asked, when I opened the door. "There's at least twenty in here."

"I think you're supposed to pick anyone that pleases you."

"That's going to be hard. They all look amazing." I twisted my lips to the side. "Which one would you choose?"

Her face brightened. "I'm actually a fan of furs. Samuel always gets me a new one for my birthday."

We walked into the closet.

"These are probably the most desirable and luxurious furs out there." She ran her fingers around one. "He probably spent a good penny to have them delivered so fast."

"These just came in today?"

She nodded and pulled one out that was a chocolaty shade of dark brown. "So, you have the three supreme types of furs—mink, sable, and chinchilla. Usually a woman's first fur is a mink. Lightweight, soft texture, unique sheen, and incredibly long life."

I caressed the velvety soft texture. "Wow. This is on a whole other level."

She handed it to me, rummaged through the racks, and grabbed another. "Then you have your sable fur. This is one of the most coveted on earth. Silky pelt. Many run six figures."

"Six figures?" I wouldn't even grab it. "This is crazy."

She placed the coat on the vanity table near us and grabbed a lovely one that was absolutely glamorous. It was a blue-gray color. I took it from her, totally drawn to its sexy appeal.

"That's chinchilla," Emma said. "The most prestigious of the furs. Lavish. Extremely lightweight. No other fur is softer or warmer."

"I like this one." I put it on. "How much is this?"

"Probably right at a hundred thousand dollars."

"Jesus."

"That's the one?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Good." Emma's expression changed to a naughty one as if she knew a secret that I didn't. "Apparently, Samuel wants you to wear a fur and nothing else."

An embarrassed flush hit me. "Uh...yeah...of course. We're going for...a classic...style of painting."

To-total-ly…not…awkward.

Emma winked at me. "This painting is going to be so sexy. You must show me, when it's done. He never likes anyone to see his work. Make sure you make him show me."

"I will." Unless it's ugly.

"Have fun." Emma left, and I stood there feeling like Alice falling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland.

You can do this. Don't be nervous. You're going to have a blast.

Twenty minutes later, I was wearing a fur coat and nothing else. If I'd been scared at the front door, I was terrified while half naked and inside his house. There were no buttons on the soft garment, so I kept it closed in the front with my hands.

You're a big girl. You can do this.

Emma had waited outside of the room while I changed. We climbed the stairs, stopped on the top floor, and opened a large door.

Jazz music flowed out to the hallway, a ballad of saxophones and trumpets, piano, and the tender beat of drums.

Wow. This is how he treats his hobbies?

Sam's studio was as large as three living rooms. It had high ceilings and the windows were stained glass. Light traveled through and sprinkled colorful dots onto the white walls and blank canvases. Art supplies stacked the shelves. Empty canvases lay against every wall and they were all sizes—from as small as my hand to has high and wide as one of the walls. A jointed mannequin lounged on a chair by the window.

There was a long chart presenting the primary colors at the top—red, yellow, and blue. The secondary colors came next—violets, greens, oranges. Others dotted the large board—ocher and yellows, silver and sienna.

A door stood in the back. The jazz music came from there.

"Please take off your shoes," Emma said. "He's pretty uptight about anybody wearing shoes in here."

"Oh." I hurried back and slipped of my shoes.

Emma got to my side. "Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat."

"Thanks, but no." I drank the impressive space in. "I'm fine."

And too nervous to eat.

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

Sam's gorgeous face flashed in my mind, delivering a thrill of anticipation through me.

The last thing I need is liquor.

"No, thank you," I said. "I'll have cherry Coke, if possible."

"Okay." She pointed to the door further away. "He's in there."

"Alright." Exhaling, I walked into the spacious room, following the path of jazz notes to the source. His studio could've been a one-bedroom apartment.

Sam stood in the center of the other room with his back to me. "I thought you would punk out and not show up."

"Since when have you known me to punk out?"

"Never." Satisfied, he turned to me, and damn near took my breath away. His white shirt clung to rock hard abs. I wished he'd had it off because I could tell his jeans hung low on his waist and probably displayed a lot of sexy muscle.

Tiny drops of paint decorated the arms and bottom of his shirt. He wore no shoes and had the most gorgeous toes. Had our feet been side-by-side, he would've won a trophy of some kind. He must have a hundred women begging him to have sex.

An easel stood in front of him. Various tubes of paint and different sized paint brushes sat on top of a table positioned to his right. Near the couch, he had several lamps of various sizes. One stood five feet high, another hung from the ceiling. Only one was on today, casting shadows along the couch.

Sam pierced me with his gaze. "Scared?"

"A little."

He directed his gaze to my bare feet and then second-by-second raised his view up my body. It was so erotic. His eyes had touched my bare skin. There was no protection under this fur. It was like he had x-ray vision and could see me naked and exposed.

He bit his bottom lip and warmed me with his gaze.

"Are you hot?" he asked. "I could take your coat."

I kept the hold on the front of the fur. "That's very nice of you, but I would like to keep it on."

"Okay, but remember, I'm here to serve you." He did a dramatic bow. "Do you like the coat?"

"Love it. I need several of these for different occasions." I did a twirl and he laughed. "I'm serious. If one is cold, this is what you wear."

"Good. Then you should keep it."

"What?"

"What else would I do with it, after we're done? Just keep it, Merce." He walked toward me and extended his hand. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Stop being shy, Cherry Coke. Art is lines. Lot of beautiful lines, thin strokes, thick strokes, curved and parallel." He gave me an intense stare. "Lots of beautiful lines."

"I'm still nervous." I gave him my hand.

"Why?"

"You're making me nervous."

His grip gently tightened around my fingers as he leaned forward and barely left two inches of space between us. "How am I making you nervous?"

I cleared my throat. "I plead the fifth."

"Interesting. At least I have a few hours to get that answer out of you."

"New topic." I backed away. "Why do you like to paint women nude?"

"Stay right here. I'm still setting up." He walked over to the couch and placed several brightly colored pillows onto it. "Why do I like nude painting? Because it's an art thing. It's a way to honor the human body. Some think it's a way to honor God. I don't know about that."

"Tell me more."

"In ancient times, the Greeks considered the male body much more stunning and fascinating. That's why sculpted female figures usually had a veil or fabric around them." He turned on another lamp, studied the shadows along the wall, and then dragged the light a few inches back. "Think of Leonardo da Vinci who didn't even consider a system of ideal proportions for the female body, thinking that women didn't have an ideal size."

"I didn't think of that when it came to da Vinci."

"Go into the Middle Ages and the nude disappeared altogether." He walked over to the other side of the room and grabbed a sheet. "During that time, Christian philosophy rose and divided the person into two parts—the corrupt body and the immortal soul."

He brought the sheet over to the couch, lay it there for a few seconds, shook his head, and picked it back up. "This philosophy viewed the body as no more than an appendage. Therefore, if people or even artists focused on the beauty of body, they would be concentrating on the root of human sin."

"So, how did nudes come back into fame?"

He took the sheet back to where he'd found it. "I don't know the exacts, but one of my favorite artists, Michelangelo, definitely elevated the nude. He used the human body to express his faith not only in God, but humankind."

"So, to appreciate the human body, is to love God?"

"Basically."

"So, the few times I've gone to a male strip club, I've dropped dollars for the divine?"

He laughed.

"By the way," I said, "your brain is hot."

"Then, I'll be spitting out facts all day."

The whole time, Sam followed me with his piercing gaze like a hungry hunter tracking prey. Not dangerous, but sensually exciting. Not creepy, but hot as hell and making me horny. There should've been laws against how he stared at me. His attention made my body shiver in lust and my nipples stiffen in desire.

His deep voice danced along my skin. "I didn't get any sleep last night. All I did was think about how I would paint you and how I could make this session as comfortable as possible. Now, I don't know what lighting to use, what backdrop to work with. Anything. Now, I'm nervous."

"Stop lying."

"It's true." He gestured to the long white couch. "That's where you'll be posing. Choose any position that makes you comfortable. This session is about getting used to drawing you, playing with the curve of your chin and the exotic shape of your eyes. Toying with different shades of paint. And then there's...your curves, of course."

"Of course." I gave him a nervous smile. "You sound like a professional."

"I'm trying to be."

I lay on the couch, making sure the coat remained closed as much as possible. As I got into my first position, simply lying on my side. The bottom of the coat opened, exposed my legs, and barely remained closed near my thighs. I began to move into another position.

"No," he whispered. "Stay like that."

I looked up at him. My heart stopped.

His gaze decorated my legs. "Have you heard from your ex-fiancé yet?'

"What?"

"Just wondering." He ran his fingers through his hair and sat down in cross-legged several feet in front of me, so close he could reach his hand out to touch me. And I couldn't deny it; my skin craved his caress.

He dragged what looked like a toolbox to him and open it. Tons of drawing materials lay inside—pencils, charcoal sticks, sharpeners, erasers, pens, chalk, and other things I wasn't sure the use was for.

"Has he told you how much he regrets everything?" he asked.

"You don't even know what he did. It could've been all my fault."

"No. I know you. It was his fault." Sam picked up a piece of charcoal on the ground near him and placed a large sketch pad on his thigh. "But you didn't answer the question. Has he called you yet?"

I gave him a weak smile. "He has left voice messages that I deleted without hearing. He's been texting me every day about how he's innocent. When I don't respond, he then tries to start an argument with me about books. Granted, I bought them for his birthdays and whatever. He never read them, so I stopped buying him books and got him tickets to various events instead."

"He's not a big reader?"

"No. He prefers film and music."

"You're a writer. You should be dating a book nerd."

"Thank you for your dating advice. I'll try to remember that." I shook my head. "Why are we talking about this?"

"Because I'm nosy. Don't move your head." Sam began drawing me. "I've always liked your lips."

My body tingled in odd embarrassment. I felt like a freaking virgin school girl. This was insane.

"You're flushing a lot," he whispered.

"You're flirting."

"Friends flirt."

"Do they?"

He licked his lips and smiled. "I do."

"You never flirted before."

"I did, Cherry Coke. I just did it badly. Now, I've had more practice and gained a lot of confidence."

"Apparently."

He looked up from his sketch book. "Do you like it when I flirt with you?"

I swallowed, and suddenly the coat was too hot, and I wanted to take it off. "Your flirting catches me off guard."

"Maybe I like you off guard."

"Not funny."

"What? I wasn't trying to be." He returned to his pad.

"Whatever Sam." I raised my head up a little to try and get a look at what he was drawing.

"Stop that and remain still."

"Sorry. I just wanted to see."

"You're still impatient."

"You still like to keep secrets from me."

"No." His forehead wrinkled. "I never kept secrets from you. Well... maybe one."

I frowned. "What was the secret?"

He chuckled, but it came out in a nervous way, reminding me of his past self.

"What?" I asked again. "Oh, this is going to be juicy. What was the secret?"

"I doubt it was a secret. Everyone else knew. You had to know."

"Know what?"

He hit me with an intense stare. "I was pretty love struck with you our whole childhood."

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

Shocked, he laughed. "You didn't know?"

"No."

"I should've said something."

"I'm still blown away. I mean, you know? For a while I thought you were gay."

"Oh really?"

"I mean, other boys were always trying to get me alone and kiss me. You were the only one that kept it friendly. I just assumed I wasn't your type or you just weren't interested in girls. That's why I always skinny-dipped with you."

"Those were always my favorite parts of winter." He studied his sketch pad and paused.

I looked at the pad. "I want to see."

"No."

"What are you drawing now?"

"The delicious curve of your neck."

As soon as he said it, shivers of pleasure slipped along that spot as if he was right in front of me, gripping a paint brush and caressing my flesh with the tip. My nipples stiffened under the fur. I became moist and needy in all the right places.

I'd prepared for a lot of things with this session—staying still during the poses, not vomiting from nervousness, keeping a positive attitude. What I hadn't prepared for was my body reacting to him with such a hot intensity.

All that time he had a crush on me, and now he's flirting. What do I do with that?

He stopped drawing and looked at me. "Did I catch you off guard again?"

"A little bit." I tried to get the focus back on him. "So, you like Michelangelo? Who else?"

"Many artists. Who's your favorite?"

I hate when he does that. Throws the light back on me.

I sighed. "Picasso. I like the idea of cubism and its breaking away of existing ideas. He created whatever he wished on the canvas without bowing to social norms."

"That sounds like you."

"Maybe."

"What made you start writing erotica? Is my sweet little Cherry Coke now an experienced woman of the world?"

I shook my head and laughed.

"Don't move."

"Stop making me move." I remained stiff. "Did you read the book yet?"

"No."

"Because I asked you not to?"

"No, because I'd spent all night cleaning up the studio and ordering furs. I wanted everything to be special. I'm going to crack your book open tonight."

"I would rather you didn't."

"Because?"

"When I write, it's kind of like my alter ego is penning the book."

"And you don't want me to meet her?"

"She's too dark and nasty."

He looked at me. "I like dark and nasty."

"I bet you do."

"Why did you choose erotica?" he asked. "I figured you for straight romance."

"I love romance, but erotica is about the sexual thrills, not the emotional highs. There can still be some romance, but the real focus is exploring the heroine's sexual journey."

"Something you don't do much?"

"Hey. I've explored a little...just not as much as my heroines."

"Maybe, you should."

"Maybe," I whispered.

The moment continued like that. Words filled with promises, flirting on both sides. And every now and then, a low groan would slip from his lips, and warmth would pool between my thighs.

Most of the time, I wished he would take that damn shirt off. I bet he had rock hard abs. I wanted his chest bare in front of me. Didn't he know the type of reaction he caused in women? Did he have any idea how wet I was becoming under the fur?

And we were just in a room, creating art, and with every minute, my nipples grew hard and I yearned for him to touch me. Never had I experienced something so hot and passionate in the creative process. Never had I been moved so easily by any man.

We talked a little more, but silence filled the rest of time as he asked me to shift into different poses on my own. And so, our communication shifted to nonverbal. Earlier, he'd been flirting with that sexy mouth.

Therefore, I decided to flirt with my body. With some poses, I exposed more skin, taunting him with my bare flesh, loving how he tried to stifle a groan. Other times, he seared me with a fiery gaze that filled me with arousal and I released my own low moan.

It was a heated exchange of my teasing poses, and those looks from him that touched me down to my core.

"You're so beautiful." Sam increased his hand's movements. The charcoal danced on the page. The muscles on his arm flexed under his shirt. Drawings of me were scattered all over the floor. Desire pulsed within, and I squeezed my thighs together unable to look at him anymore without touching myself.

Is he as passionate in bed, as he is with his art?

He paused from sketching and stared at me, searing my flesh with his gaze. "You're saving me. Did you know that?"

"How?"

He set the sketch board on the ground next to him. "Just remember that I owe you."

"You've already given me this coat. I think we're square."

"No." He scooted closer and leaned his side against the couch. Taking a break, I lay my head on the pillow near his shoulder. I'd thought modeling would be super easy, but I'd discovered that holding positions caused an ache in muscles I'd never considered.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine."

It was hard to breathe with him so close, and me so naked.

"How am I saving you, Sam?"

"Weeks before seeing you, I was restless and depressed. And then the heavens parted, and you appeared."

"More like, my craziness made you appear to see if I had lost my mind finally."

"That too." He smiled. "You make jokes when you're nervous."

"And how do you know that I'm nervous?"

"You're clutching the top of that fur like it holds your heart inside of your chest, and if you let it go, you'll die."

I swallowed. "I thought we already discussed this. You make me nervous."

With that heated gaze of his, he leaned toward me. "Is it only when we're this close?"

His cologne swirled around me. I inhaled it and found myself lost in him, in the moment, in the soft fur along my body, in the jazz filling the room. So close, I could drown in him and not want to rise to the ocean's surface.

"You didn't answer my question." He turned his attention to my lips. "I only ask because...when I'm this close to you...I'm very nervous."

Desire surged through me.

"You excite me." Fire blazed through his eyes and he stared at me as if he was in a trance. And it was crazy, but I felt those same flames too, raging inside my core. If I moved forward a few inches and he did too, we would be kissing.

"You're flirting again," I whispered.

"And you love it."

"I do."

His voice deepened. "Then, we should have a conversation."

"About what?"

"Us and how we both can be beautiful distractions to each other?"

"What if I want more than a distraction?" My heart hammered in my chest.

Silence moved between us and something else. It was hot and volcanic and bubbling at the top, ready to over flow.

"Cherry Coke, I can't give you more. And it's not...because you don't deserve it. I just don't have anything else inside me to give."

I blinked. "Can you elaborate?"

"I would rather not."

"Then, we should probably stop flirting with each other." Slowly, I sat up on the couch and made sure the coat was still closed.

Disappointment showed in his eyes.

I glanced at his sketch pad, but he shook his head and closed it.

"Can I see what you drew?"

"No," he whispered.

"That's not fair. You showed me the others."

He rose from the floor, raking his fingers through his hair. "We should end now anyway."

"Yeah?"

"But..."

I stood up and the fur coat gathered around my legs, draping me in soft elegance. "But what?"

"Let me take you out to lunch right now to celebrate."

I looked around. "And what are we celebrating?"

"You not being a punk ass today."

"Ha." I started to walk off.

Catching me off guard, he captured my arm and gently turned me around. "I'm serious."

I looked up into that gorgeous face.

"Let me take you to lunch." He paused from talking and slipped his fingers down the arm of my coat and then captured my hand. "I shouldn't even be asking you."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not that type of guy. I don't take women out to eat."

"Aw. You're more of the Netflix and Chill type. A glorified fuck buddy?"

"Somewhere in that realm."

"Then, you're right. You shouldn't ask me out to lunch. I am no one's Netflix and Chill."

"But still, I want to hang out with you. Just as friends." He trailed his thumb along the lines of my palm. Shivers of delight ran through me. He closed the small distance between us and pressed his hard body against mine. "Are you hungry?"

It wasn't fair of him to ask me that, not with my being naked and horny under the fur coat. Not with him seducing me the entire session. Not with the hunger glowing in his gaze. He could've wrapped his arms around me or leaned down and pressed his lips against mine, but he remained in control and precise like a hunter.

My breathing turned heavy. I bit my bottom lip. I could barely think with him so close to me, his muscular chest molding against my body. Warmth spread across my skin. If he'd taken off my coat and kissed any inch of skin, I might've climaxed right there.

That very fact scared me. This was too fast.

Yet, curiosity piqued my interests.

"Okay," I whispered. "We can do lunch."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Belated Trigger Warnings I know excuse me for not using them before but this chapter can be triggering dealing with serial killers, murder, psychotic wife, supposed suicides mentions of Finn and Noah as characters along with others that have come to a nefarious end. Sheer craziness that is in the traumatic side of Sam's POV is detailed. I don't know if Sam ever married Rachel. If I have said they were in previous chapters, this chapter says they never had a wedding; they were just engaged. The next chapter says Rachel was his wife I don't know. Sorry for the confusion. Thanks for the continual support. You guys rock! I can take no credit, but encourage you to check out Kenya Wright. She is a very prolific author.**

**Chapter 5**

_Sam_

"Then, lunch it is." I stepped back from her. "I promise to do less flirting."

"Good."

She didn't want me to be her distraction, but it was all I could think of. The whole time I drew her, I wanted to rip off that coat. Thank God, she hadn't modeled for me nude yet. The situation might've been disastrous. I was already moving too fast—rushing toward the endgame like a starving horny young man.

When she was around me, this intense urge came over. I just wanted to be close to her, hold her hand. Keep her next to me. But this fear rose inside, telling me if I ever gave her too much attention, I'd lose my chance of seeing her again. Of course, it was irrational and crazy. But I couldn't push the feeling away. I needed to calm down, before I scared her away.

"I'll let you get dressed and we can meet downstairs." I tried to clear the lusty fog in my head to think things through, but nothing came up except images of her naked and my covering paint all over her body. With that visual, my breathing shifted to panting.

"Okay." She said and walked off and I studied those hips swaying under that fur. Wrapped in luxury, she looked like a goddess that ruled over wild furry beasts. And all I could think about was her ruling over me and how good it would feel.

As soon as the door closed behind her, I found my breath. "What the hell was that? You came on too strong and then you pulled away and then came and then pushed again? She's not a freaking yo-yo, man." I bet she hears me talking to myself. "Great job, Sam." I continued to mutter unable to help myself.

The whole problem was I never felt for anyone the way I felt for Merce. She was my first love unrequited though it was. Yeah I thought I loved Rachel but I never lusted over body the way I lusted over Merce's curves. I could lose myself by becoming one with Merce. It could become an obsession. Personally, I didn't want to lose myself in another person. I couldn't trust myself with anyone after Rachel. I could never allow myself to be vulnerable that way again.

After we were engaged, I'd just started my company Evans Media. We backed newspapers, websites, some radio, and indie networks that were focused on true investigative journalism. Steve served on my legal side, when he wasn't busy working for our family's company. several of my fraternity brothers, Noah, Biff, and Finn, joined the staff. Due to my family having some money and the company making profit immediately, Rachel and I decided that she didn't have to work as the criminal lawyer that she went through seven years of school to become. After completing her internship, she decided to write a true crime novel and had begun researching serial killers.

Things had gone fine. A year later, I held a company picnic. That night, one of the managers, Biff McIntosh, of Evans Media died. The police called it a suicide. We were all in shock. Everyone wondered why a rich kid from a Wall Street family with a trust fund wife, and a big house in the suburbs would tear his wrists apart and bleed out in his bathroom.

Yet, everything seemed on the up-and-up, until more suicides came. Other Evans Media employees just disappeared, their families never hearing from them I had all types of ideas about who could be behind it—the government, some sicko politician opposing the media, the Russians. Everybody remained on edge, paranoid and trusting no one.

Meanwhile, no one considered that there could be a serial killer in our social circle, smiling and telling jokes. Baking us fresh homemade vegan cakes and cookies and bringing them to the headquarters as she scoped out her next victim. In the years of Evans Media's rise, there'd been five employee suicides and five people that had gone missing. And they were all men that were connected to my company, but no other similarities. One was gay. Another transgender. The rest were heterosexual men from different economic classes, races, and religions. The cops refused to investigate the suicides, and the private investigators that Steve and I'd hired for the missing people could never figure it out.

They were only certain that all ten people had been murdered. Evans Media gained notoriety. Still, this dark cloud of death hovered over us. There'd been a joke on the internet that we should change our logo to the grim reaper. Many employees feared for their life and quit. Others began investigating the matter on their off time. Even I became obsessed. Had I been working with my head and not my heart, I could've saved all of Rachel's victims.

A few weeks before I discovered everything, Rachel had begun to act weird, sneaking around and leaving our bed in the middle of the night. I didn't worry too much because she never left the property. I'd followed her downstairs one night and all she did was stand by the kitchen window and stare into the backyard. Another time, she walked outside to the backyard and just lay on the ground for an hour, rubbing the dirt along her skin.

I didn't know what to do. Many things came to mind—mental illness, depression, hysteria. I'd assumed that my obsession with the murders and Evans Media had caused a strain on her. One morning, I sat her down, confessed that I'd been watching her at night, and suggested we both go to a therapist. She cried, fell into my arms, and told me she would go. But, she never did. And I didn't want to push her.

Meanwhile, I thought the backyard was somehow a key to fixing her. With the suicides and missing people following me everywhere in public, I decided to just focus on helping Rachel. Had I been a shitty husband, I would've never known her secret. To surprise her, I sent her off to the spa and hired a team to create an amazing garden in our backyard. It was where she spent all her evenings. At least I could make it into a paradise for her to escape in.

The gardener and crew had a huge image of Renoir's famous painting "Woman with a Parasol in a Garden." This had been Rachel's favorite piece. It showed two small figures, one a woman whose parasol shaded her from the sun and a man stood next to her, leaning down as if to pick a flower. I hired the gardener and his team to transform our backyard into Renoir's impressionist painting. Everyone had been excited, especially since the budget went beyond six figures. Trucks delivered tons of flowers and shrubs covered in many different colors and textures.

They started digging that morning. I'd even helped dig to hurry the surprise. And then someone found a bone. And another. And another. And my world, my life, it torpedoed into this very dark thing. The gardener argued that the bones were too big for an animal, that they had to be human. The crew started looking at me with fear in their eyes as if I'd buried them myself. And the more we dug, the more a rotting stench filled the air. I called the police. News crews arrived with them. Rachel hadn't returned home yet. Being that a Evans Media employee badge was with one of the bones, I was arrested and in jail by that evening. After two hours, they let me out. I'd had alibis for all the murders. Each time, I'd been out of town, speaking at conferences.

I went home to a dark house. My lovely fiancée met me within the shadows of my hallway, stuck a needle in my neck, took me miles away, and kept me in a cage for two days. Jesus! For once, I needed to stop thinking about this.

And here I was now, about to get lost in another woman.

Stop it. Stop thinking about Rachel. Stop thinking about Merce.

No other woman could have me feeling that way again. Not even Merce.

My sweet Cherry Coke. Can I even call her that anymore? She's not that cute little girl I had a crush on. She's an incredible woman.

To admit that she knocked me off my feet would be an understatement. I couldn't point at one thing or another. It could've been our history. It could've been Rachel tainting my idea of love and Merce showing me something new. It could've been just plain old fear.

But after seeing Merce again, suddenly, I began remembering the sweet feeling of new love, the bubbling excitement that came. The fire of attraction. The constant arousal. After all that had happened, I didn't think I would ever feel those sensations.

Merce triggered more than inspiration to paint. Every time I turned her way, desire surged through my blood and throbbed in every bone. Potent with charm, she made my heart stir and my body crave more.

Even now as she dressed down below, I kept wondering why I hadn't taken her on that long white couch. Why hadn't I slid the fur coat and exposed her naked body? Why hadn't I slipped my fingers along that soft skin?

I could've told her anything she wanted to hear. I could've lied and promised to give her more.

Not with her. I can't pretend with her. She would see through it.

And now with the line between us clear, I still wouldn't stop trying to cross it. There was too much unspoken lust bridging between us. It was why I had to take her out to lunch afterwards. I didn't want this feeling to end and I dreaded the lonely hours ahead.

She's not going to want to just have sex. She'll want more. Fuck. I want more with her.

But just because I felt that way around her didn't mean I could give those feeling back. I was too damaged, too abused. She deserved better—a normal guy with a simple past. Some other douche-bag had already broken her heart. The last thing I needed to do was convince her to let me use her body as a sex doll.

I will break her heart if she gets involved with me. In the end, they always cry.

That scared me. I knew I could give her too much control, and that very thought sent cold shivers up my skin. I knew I would just let go and we would be happy for a week or so, and then the depression would come again, and I would distance myself.

I couldn't do that when she'd already lost so much in life.

No. Leave this alone. I'll just take her out to lunch. Well...and paint her again. And maybe do another lunch or dinner or... what am I saying?

I put on my shoes, headed downstairs, and waited for her, pacing the whole time. This should've been a simple situation. We were two friends having lunch. But in my mind, a complicated beast rose. Fear. Lots and lots of fear. For a minute, I almost called the lunch off, convincing myself that I'd be wasting both of our time by doing it.

Wine, food, and lust, those things didn't go with friends. They went with courting. What would wine and conversation with her do but make my cock even stiffer than it had been in the studio?

This is madness.

If Merce had been any other woman, I would've had convinced her to have a one night stand with no feelings involved. I knew more could've happened in the studio today. She wanted me. That was apparent. Lust blazed in her eyes. A few times she captured that sweet bottom lip with her teeth. Another time she softly moaned.

I almost spread that coat apart and kissed her between her thighs.

Yeah. I'm going to cancel. We can't do lunch together. This is crazy.

Merce came downstairs and all thoughts of canceling disappeared. A lovely sundress molded around her curvy body. It was a clean and innocent look, and I wanted to spend the rest of the day dirtying her up. My hands itched to touch her. Had she been mine the dress would've been ripped and torn on the floor.

I needed to get my head in the game. I can't have her. I can only be her friend. We're going to lunch.

"Are you ready?" I extended my hand.

"Yes."

She gave me hers. Her fingers felt warm.

Hand-in-hand, we left the house. several people on conch cruisers sped by. Conch cruisers were these bicycles that were painted and decorated with outrageous artwork and embellishments.

We crossed Front Street and went to down to Captain's Seafood Restaurant. It was in Key West's tiny art district, a few blocks of tropical inspired murals and colorful houses where poets and painters loved to hang out. Known for the freshest fish in the Keys, the place remained packed for lunch and dinner.

We entered the space and walked up the sweeping curved staircase.

Elegant and casual, Captain's had a tropical British colonial look that suited the restaurant well. White paint covered the walls while sleek furniture was black and red. Candlelight flickered along comfy leather chairs and expensive art hung on the walls—beautiful mermaids with shiny tails. Glittering gems hung along their breasts and hid their nipples.

When we arrived, a smiling hostess guided us to a table on a deck with an excellent view of crystal blue waters off in the distance.

Out here, torches lit the area and a live band played. A woman with long brown hair stood on the tiny stage. She wore a white sundress, but nothing as stunning as what Merce had on. Still, beautiful words left her lips and the urge to take Merce out on the dance floor hit me.

A drummer, saxophonist, and piano player were positioned behind her.

"This mad game we play. I run after you. And you after me," she sang over a bluesy melody. "Will this ever end? Will we ever see? How mad? How mad we play?"

"Do you like this table?" I asked her.

Merce nodded as she continued to be captivated by the singer. "This is great."

I pulled out her seat before the hostess could. "Can we have your list of champagnes? We're celebrating."

"Yes, sir." The hostess handed us two brown leather folders bound with colorful ribbons. "Here's the menu."

The saxophone accompanied the lyrics in a smooth drawl, taunting each word. "There is no end, when two souls are lost. But is it love, if there is no cost?"

We sat down.

"Such a mad, mad game. Still, I'm calling your name. Still, you're in my dreams at night. Still, I'm in darkness and you're the only light." And then she sang louder and higher with so much emotion, like the love of her life had ripped out her heart and was holding it on the stage in front of her. "Such a mad, mad game!"

"Our appetizer for the day is Sea Bass Carpaccio." The hostess began to say something else, but I stopped her.

"That sounds good. We'll order that for now." I didn't want to hear the menu. I wanted to hear more of the song and maybe get some clue to what I should do. I didn't know why, but I felt like she was singing to me.

"Still, I'm calling your name! You're the only one. You're the only one." The singer closed her eyes and the music slowly lowered. "You're the only one. You're the only one."

"Good." The hostess nodded, breaking up the magic of the song. "I'll tell the chef and send the waitress back for your order."

"Thank you," Merce said as she continued to watch the band.

The music ended.

Everyone clapped, including us.

"Thank you." The singer bowed. "We're Cracked Heart. We'll be right back after a few minutes. That song always takes a lot out of me."

"That's alright," a guy a few tables away from us hooted. "You come on back now."

The singer smiled. "I will. Thank you."

When the band left, Merce turned to me. "You know I've never been here?"

"Really?" I placed my hands on the table.

"No. Grace is always cooking and then the place has a chef, so why not just eat there for free? But...wow. Just wow."

"Good. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"I am."

I gestured to the back of her chair. "You didn't bring the fur with you."

"I'm not comfortable with accepting something so expensive from you."

"Why? Is it because I'm Samuel?"

"Kind of." She smiled. "You're my friend. We do things for each other because it's fun and we should. We don't do things for furs that could buy houses."

"Is that right? But don't I owe you a new Prince poster?"

"Dang it." She widened her eyes and hit my hand. "I forgot about that. You burned him."

"Hey." I raised my hands in the air. "Not intentionally. I was trying to make a light saber and the flamed stick caught on the poster."

"Yeah, and it caught on my bed. And the carpet. And the My Little Pony curtains."

"That's right."

"Grace came close to killing me. If not for Tracy keeping her calm, I might not be here today."

"This is true. So, you see, you deserve the coat."

"Yes, I do." She giggled.

"You should get it the next time you model for me."

She took time before she answered. I waited in silence. We'd agreed that I would paint her a few times, but after that moment in my studio, I wasn't sure if she was willing to come back.

But finally, she whispered, "Okay. I'll get the coat, when I model for you again."

"Good."

The hostess returned with an excellent list of champagnes, sparkling wines, red, and white from over six hundred national and international labels. After Merce picked a bottle, the hostess continued with the specialties of the day. We ended up with the same specialty—mouth-watering gnocchi topped with giant prawns.

Sipping from a glass of chilled champagne, I said, "Tell me more about this guy you were burning a funeral pyre over."

"What?" She almost choked on her champagne. "I will not."

"Please."

"Why?"

"I'm nosy."

"Fine. His name is Artie. He directed and then co=produced a couple of movies. Being as cliché as possible, he cheated on me with his assistant, Sugar, several times. I'd just been forgiving him for that when I came home and found him in bed with some woman giving him a blow job. Our bed. The end."

"Damn."

"Yes."

"And he does movies?"

"Yes."

"Anything I would've seen?"

"Probably not. They're indie, super sexual and violent movies. And they all went straight to DVD."

"I like indie films. Try me. Maybe I've heard of him."

"Have you ever seen 'The Girl that Sat on the Moon?'"

"No. Never heard of it."

"What about..." She rolled her eyes. "'The Last Dick in Outer Space?'"

I raised my eyebrows. "Is that a joke?"

"I wish." She took another sip. "And then there was the 'Last Tango on Mars,' which actually did pretty good due to its play on the famous title, The Last Tango in Paris. The movie sucked, but at least more people saw it."

"So, you're not a fan?"

"I was a fan, when I was with him. Now that we're not together, I don't have to pretend to love a scene of two purple, big breasted aliens sliding their naked bodies against this hundred-foot monster with an erection the size of a car, as he spurts out green sludge from the tip and roars..." She lowered into a deep voice. "'Slaves. Slaves. Rub me and we will defeat our enemies.'"

"Whoa."

"Yes."

I poured us both another glass. "You must tell me more. I'm enjoying this."

"There's nothing else."

"There's always more. How was he as your fiancé? Romantic? Loving?"

"He was really thoughtful in the beginning serenading me with my favorite songs. His voice and any Michael Jackson song are a match made in heaven. He was very affectionate and dependable. And then later, he turned into a deceitful, spineless baby man."

"What about the sex?"

"Um...it was good?"

I grinned. "You're asking me?"

"What do you want me to do, show you our old videos?"

"No. I might get jealous."

She giggled. "Then all I can say is it was good."

"But, did he make you come?"

She darted a glance at our surroundings as if someone could overhear us. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Woody Allen said that the only difference between sex and love is that sex relieves tension and love causes it."

"Woody Allen isn't the type of guy I would get my sex and love advice from."

"True, but it's a good point."

She tapped her glass against mine. "It actually is."

"So?"

"What?" She brought the glass back to her and tried to hide behind it.

"Did he make you come?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I could've slapped the guy for that. "Jesus. And you were with him for five years?"

She shrugged. "You don't come all the time."

"Says fucking who?"

"He was my first."

"Clearly."

She opened her mouth and then closed it, but I could tell she wanted to laugh at me and herself. Meanwhile, all I could think about was that I should've been her first and that if I ever saw this asshole, I would rearrange his face.

How could he cheat on her?

The waitress brought our dishes over and the band returned. The food was so delicious, our conversation shifted into the enjoyment of the meal. She made me laugh close to tears as she told me stories of her college years. Luckily, college had been a good time for me. I had a few funny moments of my own. Conversation flowed without effort. We had similar taste in movies and music.

We both stayed away from any further topic of her ex or mine. After we ate, she even let me take her on the floor and dance.

Jesus.

I thought I would explode. In my arms, she was soft and warm and smelled so fucking good. She only gave me one song for a dance, but I prayed the whole time it would never end. We ended up ordering dessert and later, coffee. By the time we finished, it was clear neither one of us wanted to end our time together. But we couldn't think of anything else to extend it. Eventually, our meal had to end. We walked back, passing darkened shop doors and quiet buildings.

"Thank you, Sam. This was an amazing day."

"It was," I said to my own surprise. "I haven't had a day like this in a long time."

"Maybe, someday you'll tell me why."

From that response, I was certain she hadn't googled me, and I was grateful for that.

Nodding, I said, "I will tell you one day, Cherry Coke."

We got to the back of her sister's property where the service entrance was located. An avocado-green door stood in front of us. Seagulls cawed off in the distance. Lines of pink and blue lined the sky. Shadows surrounded us. A cool breeze blew through her hair and I had the immediate urge to run my fingers through it.

I don't want to say goodbye yet.

She took her keys out and turned my way. "Why do you get to call me by my old nickname, but I can't call you Samuel?"

"Because that name is stupid and yours is cute."

"But I'm not cute anymore, Sam." She kissed the air in front of her. "I'm a grown and sexy woman."

"Yes, you are." I closed the distance between us, startling us both. Maybe it was the way she kissed the air. Perhaps it was the burning lust roaring through me. But I couldn't be around her for another second without touching her.

She leaned back against the door, widened her eyes, and whispered, "What are you doing?"

"What should I do?" I placed my hands on the door behind her, trapping her in. "Tell me. What do you think I should do right now?"

She licked her lips, but didn't answer.

"Have you decided on when you're going back to LA?" I asked.

"No." She shook her head. "When are you leaving?"

"I don't know either. I'm waiting on you to tell me."

She let out a nervous giggle. "Well...I'm waiting on you too."

"Okay." I leaned in a little closer. My heartbeat increased. "I don't plan on going anywhere right now. You've managed to do what Key West hasn't been able to do in years."

"What?"

"Give me an escape from my life." I moved a stray of hair away from her face. "I don't plan on going anywhere, until you do."

"And then what?" she asked.

"I might follow you."

"Very funny."

I don't know if I'm playing or not.

I ran my fingers through her hair. A soft moan left her lips.

"Let's stop playing around," I whispered.

"We're not."

"You should be mine. While we're here."

"Yours?"

I loved the way she said yours. It sounded good on her tongue. And speaking of that mouth, I wanted to taste it. My hunger must've been all over my face because she bit that bottom lip and looked away.

"Yes, mine." I leaned down and kissed her forehead, more because I was scared she would stop me from taking her lips. And in this moment, I was too raw. I couldn't deal with any rejection, especially coming from her.

She cleared her throat and asked again. "Yours?"

"Yes, mine for our stay. And it's not what you think. I'm not talking about trapping you into a quick relationship."

"Then, what are you talking about?"

"Sex. I want you to be mine to do with as I want."

She blinked and stood there speechless for several seconds, and then she laughed. "You what? No relationship, but sex?" She gently pushed me away. "Sam, please."

I held out my hands. "What?"

"You had me... until you started talking."

"But, Merce—"

"It sounds like you're just going to use me up and when you've had your fun, you'll just throw me away."

"I won't."

"I just broke up with someone. My heart is all destroyed."

"I don't want your heart. I want your body."

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, my heart is inside of my body. If you touch the inside of me, you'll certainly brush against my heart." She tapped her key against her thigh. "I'm not some chick that you just hit it and quit it."

"You're not."

"And you're crazy if you think I could just have sex with you—someone I've known longer than any other man—and just walk away like that. And what women would go for that deal?"

"Many do."

She put her hands on her hips. "Then you have fun with them."

I shrugged. "Maybe, you're right."

"I am."

"Still...I'm going to kiss you right now." I pulled her close to me and captured her mouth. She moaned against me, letting my tongue explore. Her lips were so soft. Her body molded against mine. In that moment, I didn't care about what she'd just said. She'd caused this ache in my chest and I had to taste her.

And there was this nervousness, butterflies fluttering within my core. Did she feel their wings too?

"Sam." She drew in a quick breath as I brought my arms around her.

"No more talking." I rested my hand on the curve of her hips and devoured her mouth again. I wanted to do more than kiss her. But it was enough for now, so erotic and filled with lust, our tongues slipped against each other.

Another moan left her mouth.

"I could make you moan all night, Merce."

Panting, she stepped away. "I bet you could."

"Do you want to see?" I reached out for her.

She moved my hand. "No."

My body blazed on fire, but I remained where I was. "Should I beg?"

"Do you know how?"

"I can learn."

"No." She looked away. "Don't kiss me again."

"You didn't like it?"

"That's not the point."

"It is."

"Like you've said to others, I should guard my heart. Kissing doesn't help."

I had nothing to say as my cock went hard in my pants.

"Thank you for a great day, Sam." She raked her finger through her hair, turned around, and unlocked the door. "Have a nice evening."

"You too, Cherry Coke."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Trigger Warning several murders. This is mostly all of Kenya Wright. I did take out some parts and combined two chapters into one super chapter. Hope you all enjoy.**

**Chapter 6**

_Mercedes_

I was a hot mess when I left Sam. A lingering shiver of pleasure vibrated through my body. He hadn't kissed me, he'd consumed me. My panties were wet, my nipples hard. It had taken every inch of will in me not to hump his thigh.

I can't let that happen again. And sex without anything else? Is he crazy? That's what vibrators were made for.

Sam consumed my thoughts as I headed for the kitchen to help my sister. The chef was off, and Grace had asked me to come early. Had it not been for that, I might've tried to hang out with Sam more. Already, I was anxious to see him again. That realization bothered me. It was clear that he only wanted sex. That would be a disaster. I want it all or nothing and he would clearly be a rebound relationship.

Yet, after that kiss, I'd begun mulling over his proposition in my head. I contemplated it more and finally arrived at the conclusion that it was his eyes. There was something sad and tormented lurking inside their blue depths. It brought out my protective instincts. I wanted to fix him, help him, and of course allow him to have his way with me after that scorching kiss.

When I walked into the kitchen, Grace, along with childhood memories, greeted me. It had always been the heart of our household where everyone gathered together. A small television sat on the counter in the corner playing old 90s music videos. Guys danced in shiny outfits and bopped as they rapped about having more money than everyone else.

Oh God. Tracy must've put that on. I didn't think my brother-in-law had ever left the nineties or had any idea of what year it was now. He barely went to the movie theater. Instead, he preferred to pop in an ancient VCR tape into his morbid little time machine that he called an entertainment center.

Smells danced in the air—melting sugar, hot butter, and sweet chocolate.

"You look like you enjoyed yourself." Grace pulled a pan out of the oven full of chocolate chip muffins. Stray strands of her hair dangled on the side of her face. Sweat beaded around her forehead. She set the muffin pan on the counter, wiped the sweat away with a napkin, and looked at me. "Why are you grinning like that?"

Shocked, I changed my expression. "Like what?"

"Like you just saw a bunch of clowns having an orgy."

"Wow. That's quite a visual."

She giggled. "Your ex called me today."

"Artie?"

"Yes, he wanted me to have you call him, so he could explain everything."

"What did you say?"

"I didn't waste my words. My response was the dial tone." She shrugged. "What did you do today?"

"Not much." I walked over to the island and sat down on one of the stools. For as long as I could remember, the table had stood in the center of this kitchen. Even now I could slide my fingers along Sam's and my initials on the side of the edge.

Grace left the muffins and went to a basket of cloth napkins on the stool next to me. "I didn't see you on the beach."

"I was with Sam."

She scrunched her face up in confusion and started folding the napkins. "Who?"

Tracy walked in with a heavy plate wrapped in aluminum foil and set it on the table. A frown spread across his face. "Was that Samuel I saw you kissing outside?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Grace stopped folding and turned to me. "Samuel is here? That's weird. When Steve called to say he was coming back he never told me he was bringing Samuel."

"You and Steve still talk?"

"Of course."

I shook my head. "That's weird."

"After Quinn left him, he doesn't have many people to talk to. Apparently, he's made too many enemies up in New York. And the women are just thinking of his money. I'm a safe ear for him. And anyway, he likes to keep up with what's going on with the Keys and even you."

"Me?" I said. "Why am I a topic of your conversations?"

"He's always asking questions about you. In fact, I always thought Steve had a crush on you," she said.

"Eww. Not possible at all."

"He must've been gathering information for Sam." She grinned. "That Steve can be a busy boy, when he puts his mind to it. When you were all kids, he was always doing things behind people's backs, trying to get the outcomes he wanted."

"Yes, he was a sneaky little bastard."

"For all these years, every time he calls he asks for an update about you. In fact, I'd just talked to him last week about you being in California."

Embarrassed, I asked, "You didn't tell him I was having problems with Artie, right? Oh, I guess it doesn't even matter anyway."

"We might've talked about it. You know I stopped liking Artie after the first time he cheated." She rolled her eyes. "Either way, I really thought Steve liked you."

"That would never happen."

Tracy cleared his throat. "So, Samuel?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Oh yeah." Grace exchanged looks with Tracy. "How is he?"

"Fine." Glad that we were off the kissing, I grabbed some napkins and folded some.

Tracy's face held concern. "Samuel sure looked fine, after kissing you."

"Well," I muttered, "kissing me makes people happy."

Tracy pulled off the foil and revealed a cheese plate. "Hmm."

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

Grace had still not returned to folding. "Why were you kissing Samuel?"

I shrugged. "It was an accident."

Tracy laughed.

Grace quirked her eyebrows. "Both of your lips crashed into the others without each other wanting it to?"

"Ha ha." I lay one folded napkin down and went to the other. "What did you two do today?"

"No." Grace shook her head. "What is up with you and Samuel? I mean you two should not be kissing. That's the last thing he needs or even you."

"Okay." I grabbed another cloth. "I think I'm old enough to decide that."

"This time, I must side with my wife," Tracy said. "The boy has been through too much shit for you two to be a good fit."

That comment piqued my interest. Clearly, Sam wanted to escape something, but I had no idea what. He didn't want me to google it. I promised I wouldn't. Still, hearing about it from Tracy and Grace wouldn't be breaking my promise.

I finished another napkin, gave up, and raided the cheese tray that Tracy was setting. "What happened to Sam?"

"What happened?" Grace said. "Girl, where have you been? Do you not know anything about the Mantis Murders?"

I held a small square of cheese in mid-air. "Murders?"

"A lot of them." Tracy slid the tray away from me. "And go wash your hands. Why are you hungry? He didn't feed you before he decided to kiss you?"

"Yes, Mr. In-My-Business. He did feed me. I just have an addiction to cheese." I returned to folding. "What murders are you talking about? Sam was involved with this?"

"His fiancee was," Grace said. "She killed five people, I think."

"Ten was the final count," Tracy corrected.

"Fiancee?" The napkin slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

"Jesus," Grace said. "We're talking about a serial killer and you're more shocked that he was engaged?"

"Serial killer?" I picked up the napkin and then looked at them. "Sam was engaged to a serial killer who murdered ten people?"

"Yes." Grace went back to the cloth napkins. "It was all over the east coast channels. I was sure they'd made it to the west."

"No. California had its own serial killer this year, The S&M Strangler. So...wait a minute. How...when...what the hell?"

"Emma came by about two years ago to let us know that Sam had gone missing for two days. That's when it all came out. There'd been some bodies found in Samuel' backyard. He'd been cleared by the police and went home. No one heard from him or his fiancee the next day. Emma was worried, and the police were—"

"Why the hell didn't you call me?" I asked.

"Because, every time I called, you were crying about Artie and how you weren't sure if you should break off the engagement," Grace said. "It was clear you were already depressed. I didn't think hearing about Samuel would brighten your day."

Tracy jumped in. "Besides, Samuel escaped from her two days later."

"Escaped from where?" I asked.

They exchanged more uncomfortable looks.

Silence proceeded.

Tracy pulled out a barrel of key limes. There must've been at least fifty in there. They were one-to-two inches, round, and a greenish-yellow color. I had no idea what he was going to do with them. Tracy put them on everything—fish to salads, drinks to desserts.

I placed my hands on my hips. "Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

"She had him in upstate New York in a cabin," Tracy explained. "The police said he'd been locked in a cage the whole time. She'd been doing things to him, feeding him dog food. It was a lot. And the image of him on the news was horrific—"

"She doesn't need to hear all of that," Grace interrupted. "Basically, the boy was involved with a psycho and she almost killed him. The end. And by the way, this is not a guy you should be kissing."

My stomach bundled into anxious knots. Hearing that someone had tortured him was akin to finding out that a friend had died. It broke my heart the same way. I didn't think anybody deserved to be in pain, but there were a few people that I thought might've deserved a little. Sam would never hit that list. He was too good and tried to be his best. Even after all these years, he remained a gentleman and I saw nothing that would make me believe he deserved that crap.

Grace continued with her unwanted advice. "I mean, being friends is just fine, but anything more wouldn't be smart. He's been through too much."

"First of all, someone hurt him," I said. "He didn't hurt anyone. I shouldn't avoid him because someone else harmed him."

Tracy covered the tray. "Yeah, Merce, but that doesn't mean you should be messing with him either."

"You two are moving too fast," I argued. "We're not dating. It was just one kiss—"

"After a date?" Grace asked.

"No," I corrected. "It was after lunch."

"Where did you go?" Tracy asked.

"To Captain's."

"Captain's?" Tracy whistled. "At eighty dollars a plate, that's a date. A man takes a woman to Captain's when he's trying to do more than be friends. He's trying to make you a homey-lover-friend."

"A what?" I asked.

"Ignore him." Grace rolled her eyes. "He's never left the 90's. Just nod your head and pretend like you know what he's saying."

"Whatever." I pulled out my phone. "We're not dating, so it's no big deal."

"You probably shouldn't see him at all for a while," Grace said. "You know how you can be."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Usually, after the second date, you're writing down your future wedding vows."

Tracy laughed and high-fived Grace. "That's a good one."

Ignoring them, I typed Sam's name into my phone. There was no need to honor the promise. I'd learned enough and had become curious. Even more, rage had built in my core. Some woman had hurt the man who had always showed me kindness for as long as I knew him. I wanted to whip her psychotic ass, slice her from ear-to-ear, and scream.

"What are you doing?" Grace asked. "And stop grinding your teeth."

"I can't believe no one told me this." I scanned through the hundreds of articles that had come up.

Sick images accompanied them. Uniformed men carried big black bags with numbers. Pictures of the victims were displayed next to each number. A few times, I saw images of Sam walking away from a courthouse with sunglasses on his face. Steve was with him in most of the photos. In the earlier pictures, Sam's lip was busted and there were bruises on his face.

"That fucking bitch," I muttered.

"Watch your language, please," Grace said.

"Honey, the woman is a bitch." Tracy tapped me on my shoulder. "Don't look at that stuff. It's just going to make you sad and depressed."

I pulled up a picture of the Mantis. She was the very opposite of me—pale skin, skinny, brown hair, and evil eyes. Her smile looked like it was cut onto her face. Her gaze appeared deadly.

How the hell did he end up with her?

"I had no idea Samuel came back to Key West." Tracy disrupted my reading. "They'd just shown him on tv a few weeks ago. The gory court case finished. She was sent to jail, serving five lifetime sentences. The state couldn't truly prove that she'd killed the other five people that were earlier labeled as suicides. Samuel had been the star witness."

My chest grew heavy. Had I known he'd gone through this I would've been less...I didn't know. I would've been nicer. My heart broke for him. Here I was, torn up over finding my ex in bed with another woman, and he'd just went through the worst possible traumatic event that anyone could ever go through. If it had been me, I would've been in a mental hospital, rocking in a chair, staring at the corner of a room, and sucking on my thumb.

"Jesus," I whispered. My eyes watered.

Laughter came from outside of the kitchen.

"Okay. The guests are back." Grace pointed to the napkins. "Put that phone away and finish these."

"Alright," I said.

Grace left. I should've turned my phone off, but I couldn't help it. I had to read some more.

Tracy grabbed my phone. "Yo, you're going to have nightmares if you read all of that stuff. Leave it alone."

"But—"

"He didn't tell you this?"

"No, he actually asked me not to look him up. I figured it was because he was rich and maybe had a little financial scandal, or people gossiped that he was playboy. What I didn't guess was any of this. It's horrible."

"What can I say, Merce? Sometimes the world can be a messed-up place. The whole goal of living is to never drown in all the darkness around you."

"And how do you stop drowning?"

"By learning how to swim."

"And you do that how?"

"By never giving up and always trying to move, be more, be better."

Sounds like bullshit to me.

I stared the napkins, falling into a shitty mood and not wanting to do anything but go to Sam and hold him.

Tracy watched me. "Don't get sad, Merce."

"I won't."

"Sad Merce always brings a tropical storm to the island. It's like your mood is in tune with the weather."

"That's not true. I was sad about Artie when I arrived."

"No, you weren't. You were disappointed. Maybe a bit confused, but you weren't all that brokenhearted." He frowned. "But right now, you look devastated."

"I am."

Thunder boomed outside.

"Don't start this shit, Merce." Tracy stomped over to the window and moved the curtain. I turned that way. Lighting slashed against graying clouds as the sky darkened. "Would you cheer up? Look at that weather."

Tracy was playing. The Florida Keys had two seasons—dry and wet. November through April, there was sunshine and little rainfall. However, May through October brought the showers and thunderstorms—the peak of hurricane season.

"Oh, stop it. I didn't bring this rain." Nevertheless, a tear fell from my eyes and I rushed to wipe it away. "What do I do? What should I say to him?"

"Nothing. Leave him alone, unless he wants your company."

"But—"

"You're not his therapist, Merce. I'm sure he's dealt with enough people trying to help him." Thunder boomed again, and Tracy shook his head. "You better get over this by tomorrow because I wanted to go fishing. As far as I'm concerned, Sad Merce is needed in California. Not here. Don't they have a drought out there?"

"Very funny."

"I'll finish the napkins. You go cheer up." He got ready to leave the kitchen, stopped, and turned my way. "You never told me what that kiss was about?"

"I didn't realize I was supposed to."

"You are."

"I'm an adult."

Tracy didn't budge. "Are you two dating?"

"No."

"But he wants to?"

"No." I stirred in my seat. "He doesn't want a relationship. He would just like to...you know."

Tracy raised his eyebrows. "Knock the boots?"

"I think normal people call it having sex, and I'm not having this conversation with you."

"He just wants a sexual relationship with you? No. You're not that type of girl. I didn't raise you like that." He patted up my head like I was a kid. "I'm pretty proud that when I walk you down the aisle for your wedding, you'll be wearing a white dress to signify your virginity."

"Yep. That's me, the good ole Virgin Mary, turning down dudes one at a time." I laughed.

"Your body isn't a pit-stop for men."

"There is nothing wrong with women having a sexual relationship and nothing more."

"I'm a man. I'm telling you how it is. Men pick women for purposes. Some females you pick for a fun time. Others you call when you're lonely. And then there's the one that you pick because she completes you, and you complete her."

"Is it really that cut and dry?"

"I'm just telling you men as I know it. You're better than that. You always want the guy to want more because that's when he's going to work the hardest to make you happy. Period. If not, move one. He's not worth your time." Tracy targeted me with an intense gaze. "And you shouldn't spend time with Samuel. The man is going through some serious stuff and he wants nothing more than the physical. That's a hard game to win, Merce."

"I basically told him the same thing."

"When did you tell him that?"

"I told him first." I cleared my throat. "And then he kissed me."

He shook his head and walked away. "This is going to be a crazy fall."

"Hey, I have this under control."

"You better." He glanced over his shoulder. "I want nothing but sunny weather this season."

Tracy left, and I sat alone in the kitchen. I did my best to focus on the napkins, folding all of them in between forcing myself not to cry. Sometimes life was so messed up. The people who deserved the best of this world tended to get the worst.

Tracy and Grace think I should stay away from Samuel. That's the last thing I'm going to do. He helped me through mourning my parents. I'll help him through this.

I didn't know what I would do. Sex was still not an option. If anything, I loved him more for being so freaking strong. He'd actually been smiling and laughing in the restaurant as if nothing bad had ever happened to his life. Had it been me, I would've been unable to eat or talk without crying.

Sam, why didn't you want me to know?

Was he embarrassed? Did he think he was damaged? Or did he simply never want to think about all that stuff again?

"I'm currently escaping my life," he'd said.

I piled the folded napkins on the table, went over to the window, and looked toward his house. Most of the windows were lit up.

Movement came from my left. I looked off at that side of the beach. The blonde woman that I'd seen with the dark-haired man was outside walking in the oncoming rain. She wore a red dress and held a bouquet of flowers in her hand. Lightning streaked off in the distance, thunder rumbled. And still she strolled along like it was a sunny spring day. The rain picked up so much that the woman and Sam's house became distorted images in front of me. I hoped the blonde had run for safety and wondered where her dark-haired lover was. But something about seeing her and thinking of Sam made me think of his past words.

"I would be your death wish. You should guard your heart, when I'm around."

It had done a world of good to return to Key West. My sister and Tracy had been excellent company. Any time I felt sad or alone, I could bother them.

Who does Sam have to bother? Not Steve. Every time I've seen him, he's been with some chick or chugging down a bottle of liquor. Sam is always alone. Or maybe he isn't.

Somehow, the cozy warmth of my sister's kitchen made me feel guilty. Sam must've been dealing with great pain. He'd said he couldn't sleep.

"When I'm sliding the paint onto the canvas, I remember the good things about me."

Now, everything made sense. He'd seemed more intense since I'd seen him last. Everything about him came off darker. No wonder he no longer considered commitment or an emotional relationship. It might've been hard to want a normal relationship when your ex had been killing people around you for years.

My phone buzzed.

Annoyed, I pulled it out and looked at the screen. I'd expected it to be Artie. He'd still been harassing me about those books, threatening legal action if I didn't ship them to him.

However, a strange number glowed on the screen.

Unknown: This is Sam. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed our time together. Let's do it again?

I knew why Tracy and Grace didn't want me to be around Sam. They were just looking out for me and making sure that I didn't fall too fast for the wrong guy. I could understand, but they were mistaken. There was no way I would leave Sam alone. I couldn't give him space, not after hearing about all the pain he'd gone through.

While I was adamant about no sex, if painting made him feel good, then I would model the hell out of this fall. As far as I was concerned, he could paint me while I ate, slept, wrote, and whatever else inspired him to get out of bed and play on the canvas.

If there was one thing I knew for sure, doing any form of art could be cathartic whether writing down a poem, song, or just two words over and over. The focused process of creating something, no matter how big or small, brought psychological relief to the creator.

I got your back, Sam.

I typed in my response.

Me: I had fun too. When do you want to paint me again?

Sam: Tomorrow?

Me: Sounds good.

A few minutes went by and he hadn't said anything else. I was just about to put the phone down when it buzzed again.

I swiped the screen and checked the message.

Sam: Dinner afterwards?

The sadness left my chest as my heart warmed. My frown shifted into a grin. We really shouldn't even be thinking about dinner or anything more than painting. That kiss had almost trapped me into saying yes. If we did eat next time, I would keep my distance.

Everything will be fine. Stop being a punk.

I typed in my response.

Me: Dinner sounds good. Count me in.

I put my phone away and promised myself that tomorrow, it would be dinner and nothing more.

Details of those murders ran in my head. It was hard to shake all that dark news away. Instead of making myself a cup of tea like I usually did, I opened the fridge and pulled out Tracy's bottle of spiced rum. He loved it cold and always had a small sip at the end of the night. Luckily, there was another unopened bottle because I planned on finishing the one I'd grabbed.

Yeah. It's going to be a drinking evening tonight. Damn it, God. Why did you have to let Sam get hurt?

I twisted off the cap and took a swig. The liquid burned my throat, but it was just what I needed to help me forget all the horror I'd read.

Thunder boomed off in the distance as I headed upstairs.

How can the world be so cruel?

* * *

_Sam_

The rhythm of the rain beating against my window served as my painting music for the night. After our kiss, I couldn't get Merce's lips out of my mind. I spent the rest of the evening painting them. So plump and soft, they were the center focus of this piece and took up the whole canvas.

Steve ducked his head into my studio. "Got a minute?"

"Yeah." I set the paintbrush down.

He dragged a big box inside. "Oh good. You're painting."

"Yeah."

He got to my side and stared at the painting of Merce's lips. "What are you working on?"

"A battle with my subconscious."

"Who's winning?"

Remaining silent, I added red to those sexy lips.

He tapped my shoulder and gestured at the box. "Here's some flashlights and candles just in case this rain turns into a tropical storm. I have Emma spending the night. She shouldn't be out in the streets at night. She really shouldn't be driving at all, but I can't tell her nothing. Do you think you could talk to her?"

"Yeah right. Emma will be driving until she's a hundred."

"Yeah."

An unsettling silence descended on us. Steve had clearly come in here for something else beyond flashlights and storm preparation.

"So..." Steve sighed. He didn't do that much. Whatever he had to tell me wouldn't be good.

I stopped painting and looked at me. "Just say it."

He held onto the box like it was armor. "Look. You told me to take care of the...Rachel stuff, so I don't have to say anything, if you don't want to."

My nerves went on edge. "Rachel? What's going on?"

"You don't need to hear this. I can take care of it without you needing to know anything."

"Tell me." I studied Merce's lips on my canvas, wondering what touch-ups I could do.

"The warden contacted me. Apparently, Rachel has written you several letters. The warden wanted to know what he should do with them."

I kept my gaze on Merce's lips. I wouldn't let the darkness come to me, no matter how much my fingers itched to embrace it. I'd been feeling good and now I had to be reminded of that sick bitch. I didn't even look his way as I kept Merce's lush mouth in my focus. "Did the warden say what the letters were about?"

"No. It's probably her asking for forgiveness."

"I doubt it."

"I can get rid of them."

"No, have them sent here."

Silence bridged between us.

"Sam?"

I looked at him with no humor on my face. "Do it."

"You've been doing good in the past days. Don't let her screw that up."

"It's fine. I want to know what she's saying. If I don't, then it'll screw me up even more."

Concern crossed his face. "I don't like this."

"It is what it is."

Steve finally set the box next to my easel and studied the image. "Okay. This is sexy. Whose lips are these?"

"You know whose lips these are."

Steve's expression relaxed. "I saw you walking with Merce today."

"I would've thought you were busy with one of your girls."

"I was. Kathy was the one to notice. She pointed your way."

"Kitty," I corrected. "Her name is Kitty."

"Well, I have to get rid of Kitty. She's taking up too much of my time and showed up a few nights unannounced. I hate that. Call before you come. It's rude to just show up."

"Especially, since she showed up when you were having a threesome."

"Exactly. Rude. And besides, Emma doesn't like her and the fact that she keeps on walking around the kitchen naked."

I dabbed some color on the bottom lip. "The nudity is a bit much."

The doorbell rang.

We both looked at each other.

"Are you expecting somebody?" I asked.

"No." Steve shook his head. "I have two freaks safely in my room due to the storm. We'll try not to make too much noise this evening."

"That could be your beloved, Kathy better known as Kitty."

"I doubt it. She just cursed me out on the phone and told me to never call her again. I'd been hoping for her to join me and the two girls in a good old-fashioned foursome, but the storm must've made her grumpy."

My words dripped with sarcasm. "Yeah, I'm sure it was the storm that made her mad."

"Funny."

"I'll get it. Emma goes to sleep at nine most of the time." I put the brush down, headed to the doorway, and checked my watch.

It's almost midnight. Who could it be?

I rushed downstairs and got my answer when I opened the door.

A very drunk Merce stood in the doorway with a bottle of half drunken liquor in her hand and the scent of alcohol swirling around her.

"Merce?"

"Hootie who?!"

"Whoa."

She blinked and then frowned. "Sorry. That sounded so much cooler in my head."

"You're fine," I said. "I was just—"

She placed a finger to my mouth. "Shh."

I looked down at her hand as it rested on my face.

"It's late," she whispered.

"Yes, but that's fine. I'm up and—"

"Shh." She gently tapped my lips again. "Come on. This won't take long. It just stopped raining because I feel better."

It stopped raining because she feels better? How drunk is she?

"Okay." I'd forgotten to put on my slippers up in the studio. I checked her feet and she didn't have on shoes either. "Where are we going?"

She handed me the bottle. "Drink some."

"What is this?"

"Rum." A serious expression hit her face. "You must drink it."

Laughing, I grabbed the bottle and took a long gulp. "Happy?"

"Very happy."

As always, the moonlight made her eyes glow, but this time they didn't look as magical as before. They looked sad and gloomy.

"What's wrong, Cherry Coke?"

"You're going to be upset with me, so you might as well take another drink."

Worried about what she would say, I took another swig. Had she decided not to model for me? Was she leaving? Was she going to give her ex another chance?

I handed her back the bottle. "What's going on?"

She just gestured for me to follow and walked away.

"Merce?!"

"Come on."

Shaking my head, I followed. A cool breeze slipped through my hair, wet sand clung to my feet. The clouds had cleared away and bright silver stars sparkled in the night sky. Although the weather had calmed, ocean waves continued to crash against each other. Together, we walked in silence for barely two minutes, and then we stopped right where I'd reunited with her nights ago. The ground was now a dark circle and nothing more.

She stood near there, but didn't sit surrounded us. Besides the distant lights from her sister's property and mine, our sandy path was shadows dancing under a full moon. The waves crashed with the melodies of nature. T

When I couldn't deal with the silence anymore, I asked. "What's wrong, Merce?"

She drank from the bottle and then turned those sad eyes my way. "So, I didn't break our promise exactly."

Confused, I asked. "What promise?"

"The...well...okay. So..." She sighed and took another drink. "Just never mind. The point is that I'm going to heal you." She stumbled back, and I grabbed her. She waved my hand away and pointed at my chest. "Forget me and my broken heart. My focus is on you, because you are my friend, and we started this journey together."

"What journey?"

Silent, she looked up at the stars and said nothing more.

I pulled her close to me. My nerves stood on edge. I had no idea what happened to her, but something had changed since I'd seen her last.

"Merce, what's going on? What's wrong?"

She looked at me, right as her eyes watered. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

It was something about the way she said it. Something about the way her gaze filled up with water and threatened to spill over her lids. I'd seen the same expression from my brothers, mother, and aunts as well as every stranger that I'd bumped into in Manhattan.

No.

I let her go. "You know?"

She nodded. "Grace told me."

I ran my fingers through my hair, wanting to go somewhere and hide. This wasn't how my time with Merce was supposed to be. Her light was supposed to be my vacation from the madness. She wasn't supposed to walk hand-and-hand into the darkness with me.

"Sam," she whispered. "I'm–"

"Don't you say it, Merce. I don't want you to feel bad for me."

She swallowed. "Okay."

A tear fell.

"Damn it." I pulled her against me and wrapped her in my arms. "Don't cry about me either. I'm fine."

She buried herself against my chest. "I want to kill her."

"I don't want any more death."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." I held her tighter to me. "Is this why you're so drunk?"

"I'm not drunk."

"You smell like liquor and you're out here in the middle of the night.

She raised her head to mine. "I'm going to heal you, Sam."

"Oh God."

"I am." She got out of my hold. "We're going to paint and dance and sail in the water and do things that are going to lift your mood."

Part of me wanted to argue with her and say it wouldn't work. The other part thought any activity with her would be a damn good idea. However, my stubbornness won over happiness.

"I'm fine. I'm healed."

"Bullshit." She took a swig from the rum.

"Give me that." I held my hand out. "No more rum."

"Eh!" She backed away with the bottle in the air. "Don't get knocked out."

I smiled. "You've got some liquid courage and now you think you can fight me?"

"You're changing the topic." She targeted me with her gaze. "Will you let me heal you?"

"Oh God."

"I'm going to heal you; you wait and see."

I saluted her. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

She glared at me.

She drank some more. As soon as she moved it from her mouth, I grabbed it.

"Hey!"

I held it away from her. "You're done."

"I'm not."

I took the bottle to my mouth and finished the rest of it. The liquid burned away my throat and any feeling of embarrassment I had from Merce knowing what had happened.

"Really?" Merce said.

"You're done. Now, let's get you home."

"But we haven't skinny-dipped yet."

"What?" I chuckled. "No."

"But, that's the first part of healing." She began to pull down her sundress and I stood there frozen, unable to find the gentleman in me to stop her.

"We have to get naked," she said. "Let the moonlight glow against our skin, and then jump in the water."

The sundress dropped to the sand. She wore a pink bra and bikini. Her skin looked as soft as the silky material of those garments. Her nipples went stiff and poked through the bra's silk. My cock went hard, and my words left me. In my head, a war played out between my hormones and the right thing to do. My cock believed that sex was just what Merce needed this evening. My brain demanded I calm down and get control of the situation.

"Take off your clothes, Sam." She stumbled off to the shoreline. "Come on!"

It took me several seconds to register what had just happened.

Fuck. Behave, man. She's drunk. Don't even think about it.

"Wait." I set the bottle down and ran after her. "We're not skinny-dipping."

She looked over her shoulder, laughed, and increased her pace, her ass jiggling beautifully with each drunken little step. Had she not been drinking, she might've outrun me. But she was wasted and not even moving in a straight line.

I caught Merce before her feet hit the water, picked her up, and carried her back to where I'd put the bottle down. "No more rum for you, ever."

"But—"

"But nothing." I set her down and tried to hold her arm. "We're—"

She darted out of my reach and ran back to the water. "Just once, Sam!"

"Damn it." I ran back after her, now feeling the effects of all the rum I'd chugged down. "I forgot how annoying you are when you're drunk."

She ran to the water as it rose to her knees and then lowered. Salty bubbles rolled forward and then lazily floated back. Thankfully, she didn't go any further as she gazed at the stars in the sky. Moonlight danced on the watery surface.

"The water feels good," she said.

I walked in, wetting the bottom of my pants. "It does, even though I don't want to be in here."

"You're going to feel better later. The sea salt in the ocean sucks away negative energy."

I captured Merce's arm and pulled her to me. "You're crazy."

"I am." She looked up at me as I held her in my arms. "And I love the hell out of you, Sam."

For the second time that night, I couldn't find my words. Anxiety battled with satisfaction. I knew damn well she wasn't saying that she was in love with me, but more of a brotherly-sisterly love. However, that didn't help my cock go down at all. I had no idea if she could feel the erection as it pressed against her hip.

"Do you love me, Sam?" She molded her body against me.

Don't ask me that when you're half-naked. I might say anything.

Black water pooled around our feet. The sound of the sea throbbed. But while the waves were loud, my heart was noisier as it slammed into my chest.

"You're drunk." I kept her in my arms and refused to let her down. "I'm not skinny-dipping tonight. It feels like it will rain again, and you know I've been afraid of skinny-dipping ever since that jelly fish stung me that one time."

"Oh yeah." She frowned. Thankfully, she didn't struggle and just remained in my arms. "Maybe, we can skinny-dip during the day?"

"In front of everyone? No."

"Yeah, that won't work."

"How about we just keep it to my painting you?"

"Sounds good." She yawned and nodded her head. "That's cathartic."

"Okay."

"Yeah. This is a bad idea." She leaned her head against my chest. "The world is spinning around and around and around, and my stomach is racing after it."

"I'm taking you home."

"Thank you." She tried to climb out of my hold.

"No, let me carry you."

"I'm fin—"

I already had her in my arms before she could finish the statement. It was hard not to drool over her sexy body and her very revealing bra and panties. An exasperated breath left her lips as I took her back, grabbing her dress from the ground and leaving her bottle there for now.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.

"What's wrong?"

She covered herself with her dress as I held her. "I'm supposed to be carrying you, not you carrying me."

I smiled. "You can't carry me."

"I meant metaphorically."

I stopped in the sand and looked down at her. "Merce, you are carrying me. Ever since I saw you out here, burning up crap, you've had my mind on you and in your crazy world. You've given me a much-needed vacation from reality."

"But—"

"Now what?" I started walked again.

"I don't know if that is completely a compliment. It sounds like you're saying I'm mental."

"No, trust me. I know crazy and you're not it." Rachel's face flashed in my head. I pushed that image out of my mind. The more I was around Merce, the easier it was getting to push away my dark past and all the guilt that haunted me. "Merce, you're saving me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

We got to her back door and I let her down. "In fact, you've already saved me."

"How? I want to do whatever I did again and again."

"Just keep being you." I held her chin and slipped my thumb against her lips.

"You saved me." I landed a small peck on her lips, dying to give her more. "You make me want to get out of bed in the morning. That's a big thing when you're walking in the kind of darkness I'm moving in." I placed another kiss on her mouth. "You make me want to pick up my paint brush. You make me want to..."

"What?" She widened her eyes.

I tossed her a wicked grin. "You make me want to forget about my sadness and spend the whole day making love to you."

She bit her bottom lip.

My cock jerked.

Get out of here, man.

I let her go. "You should get some sleep. Do you want me to walk you to your room?"

"No. I'm up in the attic anyway. It's been renovated."

"But still, any guests could be walking around. Something could happen—"

"I'll be fine." She put on her dress. I tried not to watch.

"I should make sure you get upstairs."

The worst part about Rachel and her murders were my mistrust for the world. I no longer took safety for granted and considered every possible danger. I really didn't want Merce walking through that big property by herself. Someone could've tried to kidnap and rape her. Nothing could happen to Merce. If it did, it would be the last bit of my sanity being thrown out the window.

"I'm walking you up."

"I'm a big girl. Don't worry about me."

"And I'm a big boy. Don't worry about me."

She frowned. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

I groaned.

"Okay. Fine. I will not show emotion." She rose on her tippy toes and hugged me. "I love you, Sam. I really do. Come to me. Call me. Anytime. It doesn't matter. Promise?"

"I will."

"You won't."

"But it sounds so better if I agree." I inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. "And I would say anything to keep you against me like this."

She shoved me away. "You're such a pervert."

I saluted her again. "Horny BFF to the rescue."

She pouted. "You're not taking me seriously."

"I am. Do you remember the superhero song that you made for us?"

"I thought I gave you twenty dollars to never bring that up again."

I chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, Merce. I want to paint you as soon as you wake up."

"You're not tired of me yet?"

"No. You're the only person to make me laugh this much in the past five years. I'm holding you close to me."

She blinked, but didn't say anything as she turned around, opened the door, and walked away.

I waited several minutes, straining to hear a scream in the night or some indication that she was in danger. I didn't know how long I stood out there, but eventually my phone beeped, and I checked it.

Merce: I made it. I'm safe.

Me: Good.

I walked off, grabbed the almost finished bottle of rum in the sand, and headed home. My phone beeped again. I pulled it out and looked.

Merce: Goodnight.

Me: Goodnight.

Merce: I love you.

Groaning, I typed my response.

Me: Go to sleep, Cherry Coke.

Merce: You don't love me?

She's killing me.

Groaning, I typed what I should've told her, when we were together.

Me: I love you. Get some rest.

In all fairness, I should have been more uneasy about any words of affection. No other women could've gotten away with saying those three words to me. Had another tried, it would've been a very different text response. But Merce was different. Merce was home and breezy days. Merce was fresh baked cookies and my father's laughter after he'd caught us in one of our stunts. Merce was every beautiful memory before Rachel, and because of that, she could say and do whatever the hell she wanted.

We just should be careful. I don't want to hurt her. Right now, she's the best thing in my life.

In fact, I was kind of happy she didn't sleep with me after I'd propositioned her. What we had was too good to mess it up with fucking. Somehow, I had to ignore my attraction for her and keep it the way it was now—beautiful, loving, and free.

I paused outside of the door and really thought about that.

Forget that. I'm going to screw her. Just once. And then I'll focus on keeping it at just friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: In my mind I try to make Sam a little less unstable than Kenya Wright portrayed her hero, but still Sam in the latter part of this chapter is CRAZYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. If you are in America and celebrate have a Happy Thanksgiving and I am thankful for all of you and your kind words that support my insanity. I own none of this; it's heavily edited by me but that is it.**

**Chapter 7**

_Mercedes_

The next morning, I woke up to my phone ringing. Things fell off my end table as I grabbed it. My head pounded in pain.

I grabbed the phone and answered, "Hello?"

"You can't sleep the entire day away." Sam's sexy voice flowed over the phone. "You'll be up all night."

"I'm not sleeping all..." Yawning, I pulled away the curtain. The sky was darkening as the sun set. "Wait a minute. How long was I out?"

"The whole day. I came by to check on you twice. Both times Grace said you were still out."

"Are you hungry?"

My stomach growled. My tongue had transformed into sandpaper while I'd slept. I visualized drinking down a bathtub full of water and still not being quenched.

"Merce?"

"Yes. I'm hungry." I yawned again, took off the blanket, and dragged myself out of bed.

"Would you like me to take you somewhere or do you want me to bring you some food?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

I found my slippers in an empty bag of chips by my bed.

I don't even want to know why I put those there.

"If you're too sick," Sam said, "then I don't want to make you come out."

"No. Apparently, sleeping over ten hours helps get rid of a hangover. I feel brand new, but just a little...disoriented."

Sam disturbed my thoughts. "How long do you think it will take you to get ready?"

"Twenty minutes at the most."

"Sounds good," Sam said. "I'll pick you up in twenty-five minutes."

"Thanks."

I hung up and foggy bits of my memory started coming back to me, and I was slowly remembering how much of a mess I'd been with him last night.

Why the hell did I go over there? He must think I'm crazy.

I hurried, taking care of the essentials in the shower, drying off like I was in a race, rummaging through my closet, and putting on my clothes. After so much drinking, jeans and a comfortable shirt were the only option. By the time I'd finished, the sun had fully set, and my nerves had flared on edge. I couldn't point to why I was so nervous. He'd been sweet last night. With each minute, I was remembering more. Part of me was embarrassed to see him again. I'd torn off my dress and had him chasing me around the beach at night.

I'm lucky he didn't curse my ass out.

I waited outside for a few minutes. My favorite couple walked by—the blonde woman and the dark-haired man. Today, they strolled hand-in-hand. He whispered in her ear and she giggled. When they traveled a few feet beyond me, the dark-haired guy glanced over his shoulder and winked at me.

Really?

I looked forward, and then a shiny red car pulled up in front of me. The top was off. Jazz flowed in a slow groove out of its speakers. The design was impeccable. Had I been a gear head, I would've recognized the car. Either way, I was sure it cost a house or two.

"Nice wheels." I walked over to the door as he jumped out.

"No."

I paused. "No?"

He rushed in front of me and opened the door. "There you go, milady."

"Thank you. You're a true gentleman."

"For now." He waited for me to get in before closing the door. "If you take your clothes off again like you did last night, I might not be a gentleman anymore."

My whole face flushed.

He walked around the car, probably enjoying my silent embarrassment. I strapped in and lowered onto his leather seats, more hiding my embarrassment than getting comfortable.

"I don't think I'll ever forget last night." Sam said before driving off.

I shook my head as we zipped off, going well beyond the speed limit. It was a regular Monday afternoon during low tourist season. The Key's high season was December through April. Although Grace's place was packed, everyone else had many free rooms. At this time of the evening, everybody was out on the beach with a lover near a bonfire, or in their homes enjoying dinner with family. The streets were empty besides us blasting by.

The wind whipped through my hair and felt good on my skin. Sam's jazz filled the air. The saxophone gave us a perfect soundtrack to the darkening scenery speeding by us.

We made it to the restaurant in no time and ended up being the only customers there. I read the sign and looked at him. "Naked?"

That word was inside the silhouette of a curvy woman.

"I hope you like the place. Last night inspired it." He parked and frowned as I jumped out on my own.

"I wanted to open the door for you," he said.

"Sorry."

Naked was housed in a stately home complete with a balcony overlooking Duval Street.

"It looks interesting," I said." What do they serve here?"

"High-end southern cuisine." He pocketed his keys and came over to me. "They have the best cornbread on the east coast."

"Sounds delicious."

"They also have a signature softshell crab dish."

"I'm going to grab five of those. I'm starving." I grabbed his hand and got ready to walk off. He didn't move. Instead, he stared at our hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I let go. "I think I did that out of habit."

"No, it's fine." He still hadn't moved. "You miss that?"

"Holding hands? Maybe. But really, it's just something I do with someone I care about. Sometimes Grace and I hold hands, especially if I haven't seen her in a while."

"Of course." He extended his hand to me. "Here."

"No. Now, it's all weird." I grinned and walked off. "Come on. I'm so hungry. And by the way, dinner is on me. We should go back and forth, if we continue to eat together."

"You're not paying."

I opened the door for us and he groaned as I bowed. "After you, kind sir."

"You're going to be the guy this evening?"

"We're friends so the whole gender equality thing has set in. If we were dating, then it would be different."

"Don't open a door for me anymore." He walked through. "And you're not paying for dinner."

I stuck my tongue at his back.

The hostess greeted us and then led us through the beautiful restaurant. Vibrant artwork by local artists decorated the walls. We sat down at the table closest to the water. There was no need to read a menu. The waitress had explained that the chef enjoyed surprising his guests. She asked about allergies and any foods we loved and hated. After she left, only the soothing sound of the ocean waves moved around us.

Luckily, there wasn't a live band. I didn't think my head could take any loud noise this evening, and it would be nice to eat and have a conversation with Sam. While his ex and all that stuff would be off topic, I still wanted to know more about the man he'd become.

I took a sip of my water, not planning to order any wine this evening. "Did you paint today?"

"Yes."

"What did you paint?"

"Your lips. Over and over."

My skin warmed.

"You should let me show you how beautiful I think your mouth is."

My heartbeats increased. I drank more water.

A smile spread across his face. "I was also a fan of those pink panties."

"You're not going to let me live last night down?"

"No."

"That sucks."

"You messed my painting up. I didn't do anything but lay in bed after that."

I wanted to know what he was doing in bed. Was it more than sleeping? I damn sure pictured the possibilities and then shoved them away.

Sam reached across the table and placed his hand over mine. "The skinny-dipping left me wanting more."

The waitress came by and set our first dishes in front of us. A bowl full of something delicious sat on each crystal plate, but food no longer had my attention. Sam licked his lips and all I wanted to do was taste his tongue again.

The waitress said, "We have lobster tartare topped with mango shrimp."

Sam kept his heated gaze on me. "Thank you."

Our waitress left, and neither of us picked up our food.

"Wanting more?" I asked.

"Yes."

"More than sex?"

He leaned his head to the side. "Meaning?"

I shook my head and picked up my fork. "Companionship, Sam. Conversation. Interest in more than how to open my legs. That's what I mean by more."

"I meant those things, besides companionship."

"Companionship is important."

"How do you define it?"

I munched on my food, almost ready to laugh at the whole situation. Had I not known what he'd been through, I would've thought he was a robot with no emotions. Instead, I realized he was just guarding himself.

I waved him away. "This would be a bad idea, so there's no need to define it."

"What is companionship to you? Talking? Holding hands? Or more?"

"More."

"Goals?" he asked. "Commitment? Sharing lemonade on an old porch while we're old?"

"Now you're talking." I finished my plate and couldn't wait for the next dish. He still hadn't touched his.

"We can compromise on some of this."

"Can we?"

"I've been thinking about this all day." He took my empty plate and put his full one in front of me. "Eat. I have a proposition for you."

"But you didn't even try your food."

"I'm not hungry. I just knew you would be."

I sighed and dove in. I felt like I hadn't eaten in years. He watched me gobble everything up with this intense look as if he was analyzing my every detail to paint later. I felt like I was under a microscope.

When I finished, our waitress grabbed our empty plates and refilled our water.

"Loyalty and honesty," he said.

"What?"

"I can be loyal and honest the whole time we're involved. And of course, I wouldn't sleep with anyone else."

"And how long would we do this?"

He licked his lips. "Until it stops feeling good."

"What if it doesn't stop feeling good?"

"That sounds good to me."

"And then, what if I fall in love with you because it's so amazing?"

His confident expression faltered. "We could...deal with that, when it came."

"It sounds like we'd be dealing with me crying."

"Be positive."

I smirked. "I'm being logical."

He shook his head. "This is the wrong time for you to be logical."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted you so bad last night, I couldn't go to sleep. Because I was close to ripping off those little panties of yours last night. Because my cock is hard right now and I don't want to eat any food, I want to taste you, right now, on this table, licking you all over your pussy until you moan my name."

Shocked, my lips parted. I had nothing to say. My panties moistened.

The waitress returned with our dinner and set them in front of us. I didn't even hear what she said and had no idea what was on the plates.

Once the waitress left, he asked, "Your thoughts?"

"Sam..."

"Yes?"

I didn't have anything rational to say. "You're...you're turning me on."

"Good."

"But—"

"No buts. I've been thinking. You want to heal? And you want to heal me? Then, let's try it."

I shook my head. "Now, it's my turn to say, 'Oh God.' What are you going to heal me with? Your dick?"

I wasn't ready for the expression that covered his face. It was hot and blew me away. He looked like a hungry man as he captured his bottom lip with his teeth and gripped the edge of the table. He looked like a tiger ready to leap.

"This isn't a simple case of me just wanting to have sex," he said. "I could do that with anybody. I want you. Period. No one else in my bed. There's no one else I want to spend my evening with. And I don't think, I'll stop craving you, until I have you."

And how did I feel? It was what he'd said, but times ten. There was no need denying it any longer at dinner. He made me hot and horny.

I picked up my spoon, dipped it in the sauce, and put it in my mouth. Desire built between us as he watched me sample the food. I didn't know who I was kidding. After that confession, I was no longer hungry. And I couldn't help but slowly lick the sauce away, thinking of what else could be in my mouth.

A soft groan left his lips.

I dipped my spoon and licked it again.

He gripped the edge of the table harder. The water wobbled a little in my glass.

"I don't know, Sam."

"You know. And right now, you know exactly what you're doing to me."

Those green eyes targeted me. I was trapped. They shined and delivered a searing flush against my flesh. No one had ever looked at me like that before, like they wanted to eat me. Like they'd never even seen a woman until my face. Like they yearned and craved the image before them, and I was it.

I swirled the spoon around in the bowl. "You make me...hot."

"Show me."

I blushed. "How?"

"Are you sure you want my suggestions?"

I set my spoon down. "This is dangerous territory."

"It is."

"I want you too."

"Then, go with it."

"And my heart?" I asked.

"Don't open it."

"I don't know how to do that."

"I could show you."

I leaned back in my chair and studied him. "I bet you could."

"Plenty people do it and have no regrets. And we'll always be friends."

"Can you guarantee that?"

He frowned. "Nothing is guaranteed, Cherry Coke, but I can promise that I'll do my best to never hurt you. I want this to be good for the both of us. And I won't disrespect or mistreat you. I'm talking friends with benefits no strings attached."

"Fling fuck buddies."

A wicked grin spread across his face. "This would be more than a fling, and more than a fuck."

I swallowed and tapped the edge of my plate. "Let me think about it for a few days."

He never let go of the table as he nodded. "Okay."

Finally, he released the table from his grip and ate. The rest of dinner continued in regular conversation. We caught each other up in the past years, limiting the conversation only to our occupations. Neither touched on our past relationships for obvious reasons. Yet, throughout our conversation, there were moments when we caught the other staring too long or smiling for no reason like a silly fool in love. The whole time, it felt so good and scared me. He didn't want more, but I could feel myself falling.

He was Sam—sweet and safe, loyal and so goddamn sexy.

After we finished, I slipped my credit card to the waitress before him which had him frowning until he left. I was sure he'd find a way to pay me back in the future.

The drive back was just as relaxing as when we'd gone to the restaurant—jazz music riding an ocean breeze.

The car zoomed along the streets with no problem. But when we got in our neighborhood, he parked in front of his house and turned off the car. "I was hoping you would come up to my studio right now. If not, I'll walk you home."

I blinked. "Why?"

"Because I have to paint you. Inspiration is burning inside of me right now and I have to answer it."

"But I'm not—"

"Can I paint you tonight?"

My body tensed at his voice. The words dripped with lust.

No. It's not a good idea. Don't.

Those damn eyes trapped me.

"Okay," I whispered.

We left his car and went up to his studio.

I shouldn't have been going back to his house. It was clear we weren't on the same page when it came to relationships. Also, I'd just got out of a bad situation. I didn't need to fall in love with another man, especially one so complicated and adamant about wanting nothing more than sex.

Why am I doing this? Why did I tell him I would think about it?

In my head, I rationalized that I needed to see his new drawings of me. But secretly, I wanted to see where this was going. Everything was already playing out like a fantasy. At dinner, I'd found myself relaxing and enjoying myself even more than I'd expected.

As soon as I stepped in and saw the painting of my lips, I regretted it. My body blazed with fire. He'd done them so sexy. So unreal.

His deep voice slipped along my skin. "One kiss and I can't stop painting them."

"You're talented."

"It's not talent, when I'm simply painting the truth." He came to me and my heart stopped as he extended his hand. "You should give this a chance."

"I told you I would think about."

He enclosed his warm fingers around mine, delivering heat to my core. "This is what you want?"

Nervous, I asked, "Are you going to paint me or hold my hand?"

Earlier, he'd acted weird about holding hands, but here he stood, holding my hand like he never wanted to let go.

He guided me to the couch as if I was this fragile thing.

"How do you want me to pose?" I asked.

"Just get comfortable. It doesn't matter." He let go of my hand and raked his finger through his hair.

I gestured to my clothes. "Is this okay?"

Shaking his head, he rubbed his face with both hands.

"What?" I asked.

He drank me in further. I couldn't tell what he was trying to say, but when I slipped my gaze at his jeans, I could've swore I spotted an erection.

No. He's not hard. No way.

I tried to get the very idea out of my head, but then I checked again, and was sure that his cock was hard. It was too big to hide, pushing up against that jean material as if his dick had a mind of his own.

Oh hell! He's hard! For me? Oh shit! What's going on?

My nipples hardened. My sex went slick with desire, eager to see what lay behind those jeans.

He closed the distance between us, brought his face close to mine, and practically moaned my name. "Merce?"

"Yes."

"What's on your mind?" He licked his lips.

I wanted to rise and suck on his lip. How would it taste? How long would he let me suck? Until he groaned or pulled out his cock and placed it in my mouth?

Nonetheless, I wanted to suck Sam's cock. That truth drummed inside of me. Within those jeans, it looked thick and long. Was it? Or were those some pretty complementing pants?

I should get out of here.

"Merce, what's on your mind? Your expression since we've been in here—"

"What?"

"It's making crazy. What are you thinking about?"

I swallowed down as much lust as I could.

"Now, you're shy?" he whispered.

"I'm horny, not shy."

"Do you want me to do something about that?"

"No. I'm still thinking."

Nodding, he backed away. His gaze never left mine as he placed his hands in his pockets. "You still didn't tell me what you were thinking about?"

"It's not important."

"I bet it is. Say it."

"I was wondering how big..." I swallowed. "How big your dick is."

I stayed where I was as Sam looked like he was about to freaking attack me. A patient predator, watching me in a seemingly relaxed position, although I could see that one of his hands gripped his cock through the pocket. Damn it. Don't do that. Don't touch it in front of me. Not when I want to see.

By now, my panties and jeans stuck to the space between my thighs. All wet and creamy, I was glad I didn't wear light colored bottoms.

I should get out of here. What was I thinking? Of course, I can't be in a room by myself with him.

I slowly walked away. "I should go."

Anger crossed his face, but he said nothing.

"I can walk myself home. It's just right there." I took a few more steps away. "In fact, I would rather just go on my own. A long walk is what I need. Really long. Feel the breeze. So cold...and hard. And breathe some fresh air and...taste it."

He licked his lips. "You talk a lot when you're really horny?"

"Yes," I whispered.

I didn't say anything else. I was close to panting over him. Hopefully, he hadn't noticed that or the fact that my hard nipples had refused to hide themselves underneath my shirt.

I turned around, kept my pace steady, but was determined to get away before doing something I regretted. Although I wanted him bad, I had to think about it. Could I have a fling with him and nothing else? Could it heal us, instead of break us?

Why does he have to be so dang sexy?

I paused in the doorway and turned around to say goodbye.

I shouldn't have.

He stood right there, his hand down his pants like a madman. Thank God, he didn't stroke it. Thank God, he hadn't brought his cock out and showed me how meaty and long he really was.

But he'd placed his hands inside of his pants and basically confirmed what I'd thought. He had an erection. His cock was hard for me. There could be no other reason, unless he was just really that into art so much that he got aroused.

No. It's me.

Licking his lips, he kept that hand right there and gazed right at me. Neither one of us spoke. What would we have to say? What could I even say?

Would you like me to help you with that?

A groan left him as if he heard everything I'd thought. Maybe he saw the desire all over my face. My nipples had surely hardened so bad they ached. If he could just come over and taste one, I would've been happy for the rest of my life. Surely, I was too scared to go to him.

What's wrong with me? Stay or go? Run or screw him until my voice is hoarse?

"Now, what are you thinking about?" he whispered.

"I'm thinking about how good it would be, if you touched me."

"And can I?"

"No," I blurted out.

"Okay," he said through clenched teeth. "Make sure you think about my proposition tonight."

"I will."

"I will too." And then Sam stroked himself, right there. Right in front of me. It was so hot. What made him decide to start? Had I told him from not moving that I wanted him to? Or could he just not control himself anymore? He'd probably been waiting for me to leave the room.

I couldn't see his hand, but I could tell that it slowly moved up and down. His gaze remained on me. I could barely breathe or contain myself.

"Okay." Bobbing my head like an idiot, I backed away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I hurried out of there. A zipper sounded behind me. And then he groaned loud and moaned, "Damn, Merce. What are you doing to me?"

* * *

_Sam_

As soon as Merce left the studio, I freed my cock. She must've thought I was a degenerate. I surely did after these actions. What was I thinking? Had she heard me? I'm not thinking.

I'd wanted her all during lunch, fascinated by her prickly vulnerability, the way her smiles never quite reached her eyes. I wanted to take Merce to bed and keep her there until she was soft and satiated in my arms.

I might've been okay, if I'd been able to paint her. My cock might've gone down as soon as the paint and brushes came out. But I didn't get the time and she was so innocent and sexy. Plump melons poked her shirt with her nipples, her eyes open like windows.

I had to have her. Innocence and pain swam in her gaze, but oh God that body was ripe to be touched and she looked like she hadn't been truly pleasured.

The way she stared at me in the doorway made me crazy. It was bad enough she'd caught me with my hand in my pants. And what could I do? She'd caught me. There was no use of taking my hand out and mumbling a sorry. I was unraveled. She deserved better. Not some horny man rubbing his dick to the sight of her walking away.

But she caught me, and didn't run off. Instead, she stared as if daring me to stroke it in front of her. Or maybe that was just what I wanted to believe.

Those few seconds were agony as she gazed at me. I wanted to see Merce naked—her clothes off and legs spread open in front of me. But there would be problems with that.

So then why did I take her upstairs? Why put her in my studio?

I grabbed a paint brush and walked over to the canvas. The fact that I did this made me deal with the reality of the situation. Yes. I had to paint her. I dipped my brush into one of the three small jars of paint on the easel. The colors were raw umber, ivory black, and flake white. I kept a few there just for quick ideas and sketches. For Merce's image, I wished I had the whole palette at my hands. She deserved the best, even if this would be practice. Blocking in the basic shapes of her image, I got the general outline and proportions of what I longed to touch; the point of her nose, the fullness of those lips, the rise of her cheekbones, and those window eyes that opened to her soul.

"Yes, Merce. There you go." I licked my lips and squeezed the tip of my cock. I wanted to come so bad I almost screamed for her to come upstairs.

She fucking has me acting like a crazy man.

Merce was the perfect muse. Already she inspired my body and creative mind. Already, my paintbrush danced across the blank canvas capturing each beautiful detail. I shifted to a smaller brush to work on those eyes. Her gaze. It's what's got me crazy. Everything is in her eyes. The pain. The hurt. But there's something else too. Love. But it looks different and it makes me feel altered in some way every time I look at her.

I had to have her. There was no way around it. I'd have to convince her somehow. Persuade. Beg. Would she even talk to me again after catching me rubbing my dick in my pants?

I don't care. I'll pay her anything she wants. Any damn amount. I will take her anywhere she desires. Give her anything that comes to her mind.

And then the thirst to touch her took me over. I dropped the paintbrush right as I finished her face. It wasn't in perfect detail. Still, on the canvas, Merce peered back at me through shadows. I'd have to watch her more. I needed to be around her, breathing in that lush scent, slipping my fingers along her soft flesh, licking and tasting if I could.

"Oh, Merce." I pumped my cock in pure delirium. That painting sang to me, twisting and turning her image in my head, burning me up like I had a fever. Rage and lust snatched me out of reality. I was off course, out in the wilderness like a deranged beast, some shape-shifter changing form under the full moon and stalking the forest for his mate.

"I'm going to show you." I imagined the way her eyes would open wide as I thrust inside of her. How shock would mingle with pleasure. How that perfect little mouth would part to whisper my name. How sweet her voice would sound as she came. How warm and wet her flesh would be as I slipped inside of her. How much I would never want to leave.

Passion ripped through my chest and broke every part of my body. I came undone. Exploded. Shattered. Torn into my desire and the very thought of her.

I came.

All over my hands.

All over the canvas.

White, hot semen shooting in the air in liquid strings.

Decorating her eyes on the canvas.

Dripping down her nose and lips.

I came hard, busting all over the raw umber and ivory black jars of paint, spilling onto the floor where the paint brushes lay discarded.

Dotting my jeans.

"Merce." Hallowed, I collapsed to the floor, semen still spurting out of the tip, desire still blazing inside of me. "Merce."

She did this to me. Had me on the ground with my dick out like I should've been kept in a mental hospital. No woman should have this sort of power. In only a few minutes, my hand was on my cock and I couldn't stop the rubbing. With her inside of my studio, I couldn't figure out if I wanted to screw or paint or do both at the same time.

"Merce."

I'd had rules since Rachel. One was to never date a woman I could be obsessed with, to get too close to the ones who could drive me crazy. There was no doubt in my mind that Merce would have me strung out and running after her like a fool. These were clear signs. She would fog my head like the past vile woman in my life would did. I'd be blinded to her and any dark part of her. Already, her name echoed in every corner of my brain. There would be no rest tonight or any other, not until I'd drawn her enough. Not until I tasted her.

God! What am I saying?

Still on the ground with my cock out, I licked my lips and whispered her name again.

Later, I showered and wiped up the cum all around Merce's painting. What would Steve or Emma think, if they saw it? I had to hide my lunacy. It would be the studio's and my secret. I wasn't really a fan of anyone cleaning in there anyway.

She had me busting all over my floor like a sex addict overdosing in an orgy.

Dried white spots dotted the ground. It dripped down the easel, giving the wood scattered stripes. Cum even decorated the painting in some spots. Little white spots glimmered on her lips and face. I couldn't clean it off. In some way, the liquid gave the image even more life.

"Perfect."

No one would really guess that it was semen. They'd just think I was doing something odd and artistic.

The best art were the ones that held secret jokes between the canvas and the painter. After I died, people would still wonder what those drops meant. Did they represent some metaphysical concept in my head? Or had they been an experiment in light or color? No one would ever guess that they'd gotten there from me jacking off and stroking the canvas at the same time. I won't do this. I am going freaking crazy.

She needs to give me an answer soon.

Raking my hands through my hair, I shook the image of her out of my head and returned to the mess. It must've taken twenty minutes to get the crazy out. Once I finished cleaning up, I studied the painting I'd done of her again. "Damn, you're stunning."

Hell yes. I don't think I've ever painted this good before.

Her face incited a passion inside of me that bubbled up to the surface and exposed itself in my art. With her painting, I'd done something different from all the others. I'd angled her face in such a way that the ridge of her delicate nose formed the line between brightly illuminated and shadowy areas. Merce sat partially eclipsed—a division of light dramatized by darkness. The brushwork in itself was exquisite.

I should give it to her. Surprise her with it.

I checked my watch. It was midnight. Steve's and Kitty's voices sounded downstairs as they argued.

"Why don't you love me?" Kitty cried.

"Shh," Steve said. "Keep your voice down, please."

"I did everything you asked me to. I even wrote those dumb letters."

"And I gave you money for that."

"I don't want your money, I want your heart."

"No, you want a ring to guarantee the money."

"I don't care that you're rich."

"Sure, you don't. We met in the bar. You wouldn't even say hi. Later, you see me walk to the Bugatti and suddenly you're talking to me like I'm a movie star. An hour later, we fuck. A day later, you're asking to borrow money."

"I needed it."

"We're done."

"Please," she cried some more. "I love you."

"I told you, babe. I'm recently divorced. I'm not interested in nothing more than sex."

The front door slammed, echoing through the whole mansion. I glanced out the window to see Steve stomping off onto the beach and holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Kitty trotted behind him, naked and crying.

I had no judgment to give Steve or Kitty. I'd just been acting like a mad man in my studio.

I turned on some music just in case they came back and argued some more. Stacy blasted from the speakers.

"Every part of you I want..."

The urge to see Merce came over me. It should've been enough that I'd jacked off to her, but now I just wanted to hear her voice before I went to bed.

And talking on the phone wouldn't be enough. We had to be face-to-face. I wanted to smell her scent, touch her skin, taste that pretty little mouth.

Shutting off the music, I put on a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, deciding to go out and see her. It wasn't my best idea, but I didn't care.

It's too late. This is a crazy idea. Maybe I can just leave it outside of her door.

My nerves frazzled. I didn't think things through much with women. All I had to do was ask and usually, I received. If I didn't, then it would be no big deal anyway.

In this case, a lot depended on these next moments with Merce. For whatever reason, she'd triggered mania in me. I had to explore it.

Done with trying to ponder it further, I went downstairs and headed to her sister's place. The whole time, I gripped the canvas in my hand.

Would she love it?

By the time I arrived at the bed and breakfast, my cock came alive again. I gazed at her portrait and knew I couldn't talk to her right then.

Get control of yourself, man. She would never model for me or hang out if I continued to show her that I was this horny guy with no control of his dick.

Once I got to Dolphin View's back door where I'd kissed her nights ago, anxiety bit at my flesh while lust raged in my veins. I couldn't see Merce and behave. My body wanted her so bad, and my hands hoped to lovingly study and dissect every inch of her—from that brain to the center of her thighs. My fingers needed to learn the texture of her skin. My head yearned to preview the thoughts that ran in her mind. My ears craved the subtle levels of her voice.

She lit a fire inside of me. Merce had touched something in me that had lain dormant since Rachel. Merce made me feel alive. She made me hope, when I thought there was none left in the world.

This is fucking crazy. Why am I out here? It's too late to knock. Everyone should be asleep.

I lowered to the ground and considered trying to slide the painting under her door.

No, dumb ass. That won't work.

A female voice sounded behind me. "Samuel, is that you?"

Stiffening, I turned around.

Grace stood in front of me. She didn't appear pleased at all. Lips turned into a frown, dread swam in her eyes and her hands held a gun. It made sense. I was at the back of her property, walking in the shadows and looking sketchy.

"Hey, Grace." I slowly raised my hands.

"Oh." Grace must've realized she had her gun because she looked at it and then lowered. "Sorry. Tracy had to take a guest to the hospital."

"What happened?"

"A lover's quarrel turned bad. She threw her heels at his head. It hit his eye. It's probably okay, but since it's his eye, I wanted him to get it checked." She gestured around. "Either way, the alarm back here went off."

"I didn't hear anything."

"That's the point. I don't want anything to ever wake up the guests, if there's no need. The alarm signal just goes to our living area. Usually it's a cat, but the camera showed a man."

I frowned. "You shouldn't have come down here by yourself. With Tracy gone, you should've called me."

"Look at Samuel." She smiled. "You're all a big man now, telling me what to do."

I smiled. "Sorry."

"No worries. And understand that I'm more than capable with this." She gestured to her gun. "What are you doing around here?"

I showed her the painting. "I figured Merce was asleep, so I was just going to leave it around here. Honestly, I don't know why I even came over here. I could've waited."

"It sounds like you wanted to surprise her." She walked closer and studied the image. "You're really talented."

"It's a hobby."

"This should go in a gallery."

"Thank you."

She turned back to me. Her frown never left her face. "How long do you plan on staying in the Keys?"

"For a while."

"So, this isn't a short vacation?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why not?" she asked.

It was no use making up something to Grace. The woman always had a bullshit meter when it came to me.

"I'm enjoying Merce's company and will probably hang here until she leaves."

Her frown deepened. "She's been through a lot. You've been through more than a lot. What do you mean by hanging out?"

"We're grown-ups, Grace."

"That's not an answer, Samuel."

"I enjoy spending time with her."

"I'm sure she enjoys you too." She sighed. "However, are you okay?"

I held back my anger, knowing exactly what she was getting at. I was damaged. Grace just wanted to make sure that I wouldn't get my rot on her sister.

"I'm doing fine," I said. "Painting relaxes me. The Keys are soothing."

"You are really talented." Grace's attention returned to the canvas. "You've always painted. I still have some of the drawings you gave me."

"I'm surprised."

"They were that good. You and Merce always had these amazing imaginations. Sigmund Freud claimed that early childhood experiences produced creative genius. I often wondered if Mom and Dad dying so early sparked Merce's creative fire." She turned back to me. "But then, Freud also believed creative genius was a sign of mental illness—a psychological disorder that was functional, but distorted the perception of reality for the ill. Basically, Freud thought all artists were crazy."

"Not many have disagreed."

"There's definitely a link to creativity and mental disorders."

"I've heard," I said. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Samuel, I love you like your family, but make sure your crazy doesn't touch my sister's crazy."

"I would never hurt her."

She gestured at her gun. "You better not."

Same old Grace. Fiercely protective of Merce and taking no bullshit.

We stared at each other for several seconds. She didn't look like she would back down, and I didn't think I had much of an argument against her. After all, I'd been jacking off to the image of her sister just a couple minutes ago.

What the hell am I doing out here? I must look crazy to her.

"I'll give the painting to Merce when she wakes up." Grace reached out to grab the canvas.

I pulled it back. "No. I think I should just give it to her tomorrow."

"Oh, stop it. You know that you want this to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up. Isn't that why you braved the chilly wind in the middle of the night and risked getting shot by me?"

"Maybe." I handed it to her.

She studied it some more and then shook her head. "This is going to be a long fall."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing." Grace gave me a half hug and then she walked away. "Have a goodnight, Samuel. And don't creep around my property like this again. You know we're all crazy over here. You'll end up getting a bullet in your behind."

"I'll remember that."

Grace had been right to hold her gun and fear the world. I used to see the world as safe. After Rachel, all my beliefs and assumptions about life shattered. Before her, there'd been a sense of order and predictability about life. Now, I felt like my place of refuge had been invaded and forever destroyed.

And now with Merce, each day was becoming even more unpredictable revealing just how unstable I really am.


	8. Chapter 8

**Combining these two chapters left me with almost ten thousand words. So I ended it with a cliffhanger. Don't worry I will post all these chapters together and then really take a break and enjoy my holiday and come back hopefully finish rewriting Ms. Wright's story before I head back to work.**

**Chapter 8**

_Mercedes_

Tracy and Grace meant well, but I'd bought another self-help book. It explained that the prerequisite to success was uncertainty. Being that I was usually unsure of everything, I found strength in those words.

Just because I don't know what would happen to Sam and me, doesn't mean I should avoid him.

For the next two days, I modeled for Sam.

Grace told me she'd seen him one night, but he never made any mention of it. She'd also gave me the painting, but when I brought it up, Sam seemed uneasy. I didn't understand why he didn't want to talk about it and, so I left the topic alone.

In those sessions, he seemed on edge and more intense. He began to get lost in the process, studying me and then coloring his canvas, mixing colors and then telling me cool facts about artists. He played jazz the whole time, usually with a saxophone riding a slow beat.

I hadn't gone nude yet. Instead, I compromised with swimsuits—a candy apple red one in the first session and a green set for the second. Both times I could've sworn he moaned as I lay in front of him.

Surely, my body hummed with desire, partly wishing he'd touch me. But then on the other side, I wanted to keep us as friends. This wasn't supposed to be about sex. He'd been through hell. I just wanted to show him heaven.

I hoped the painting really helped him heal. These moments were making me feel better. As he watched me, I felt more confident, more beautiful, ready to start a new life.

Both days, he gave me a gift. On the first day, he handed me a laptop with red ribbon wrapped around it. I refused to take it. Later that day, he professionally delivered it to my room.

The next session, he gave me a long necklace with an elaborate pendant. It was silver with a M that stood inside of a circle. I must've lain in bed and fingered that pendant the whole night after he had given it to me.

During both sessions, he never brought up his proposition again or asked me for an answer. I was glad because I didn't have much of one. Each moment, I went back and forth. I was scared to try and even more fearful not to give him a chance.

Could a fling with him be just what I needed to move on? I'd never had one before, but then, maybe that was my problem. I took love and relationships too seriously, never taking any risks, always trying to be careful, and still my heart had been broken many times.

Maybe there's no reason to be so careful. Perhaps, I just need to act on my desires and then see where that takes me.

Today was our third session. I walked inside with a polar bear-white fur coat on and a new bikini underneath. My hair were up in a ponytail.

He turned my way. "You look like you're about to be naughty."

I held the coat closed. "What made you say that?"

"The wicked grin on your face." He looked at my hands as they kept the fur closed. "Let me see what you're wearing today."

"It's different from my usual swimsuit."

"How?"

"It's sexy." I clawed the air in front of me and snarled like a cat. "You said that you wanted to try something new."

"I did." He slipped his thumb up and down the paint brush and for a few seconds, I imagined his fingers on me.

I looked away. "Are you ready?"

"Always."

I opened the coat. It dropped to the floor. The cool breeze coming through the window brushed against my skin. Silent, he stood there and paused from touching his paintbrush. His attention remained on me.

"Well?" I leaned my weight on one foot suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I thought I looked good, but I wasn't used to flaunting myself. I preferred lingering in the background when it came to people prancing around and showing off.

"Really, Sam?" I frowned. "You're not going to say anything?"

I looked down at the bikini. The set had come from a luxury lingerie brand. I'd ordered it after our first session and paid extra for two-day delivery. The bikini had gems at the top that formed into a choker around my neck. Removable chained beads swooped around my cleavage and held up the soft material covering my breasts. The bottom was barely there, a tiny upside-down triangle covered in gems. I knew from the moment I bought it that I was flirting with him. It made me wet just thinking of his possible reaction.

I sighed. "I could put something else on."

"No."

I raised my eyebrows. "No?"

He walked over and stood right in front of me. My heartbeat sped up.

I looked at him. "What do you want me to do?"

He raised his hands and pulled my hair out of the ponytail. My hair fell around me, spilling along my shoulders and tickling the center of my back. With one hand, he tossed the hair over one of my shoulders and exposed bare skin. "I've been being good." He slipped his fingers along the line of my chin and then circled my lips. "Are you trying to taunt me?"

"No."

"Lie."

I smiled and turned away.

He brought my view back to him. "I haven't asked you about your answer yet."

"You haven't."

"And?"

"I'm still not sure."

"You're scared?"

"I am."

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"You couldn't guarantee that."

He ran his fingers through my hair. "Let's try something different today."

"Okay."

"Do you think you would be open to letting me paint you naked?"

My heart drummed in my chest, an erratic beat a tribesman would play deep in the Amazon jungle. A song for the gods to wake up in the sky and descend onto to earth. Part excitement, part fear, and a whole lot of hunger for sex rising in the tempo.

"Y-yes, of...course." I stirred.

He didn't look at me as he picked up a paintbrush from the table. "Will it be a problem? We don't have to—"

"No." I swallowed. "It'll be fine."

"Okay." He backed away. "Get comfortable."

Had I not been so terrified and turned on at the same time, I would've said thank you. But all my focus was on taking off the new bikini I'd bought for him.

I undid the choker part of the top and slipped it over my head. Heat spread up my neck. Hunger filled his gaze as he studied my breasts. My top fell to the floor.

"Don't stare," I whispered.

"I can't help myself."

I covered my breasts with my arms. "Okay. Give me a minute."

Smiling, Sam walked away and lifted the windows in his studio as if hoping the cool ocean breeze coming in would stiffen my nipples. And it did. My nipples perked up from the breeze.

"Hold on." He went to the studio door, locked it, and then he turned my way. "Proceed."

I gave him a nervous smile.

He laughed. "I love that you're nervous. I'm not used to seeing you that way."

Not ready to be fully naked yet, I hooked my fingers under the beaded strings on my hips.

He hissed, but said nothing. He just gripped the paint brush in his hand and kept his view on my thighs. There was a bold appreciation in his stare. The longer he studied me, the more my body awakened. Lust curled between my thighs.

His voice swam in seduction. "And the bottoms."

Every inch of me swelled with desire. In a few more seconds of his gaze and my overactive imagination, I wouldn't need to take my panties off. They'd be melting away by themselves.

Was there anything hotter than having Sam's attention all on me? I hoped I would never find out because that thing would be dangerous. He was already too much. Yet I was here, not heading the warnings or red flags, and craving his touch.

Slowly, I took off the bikini bottoms and lay on the couch.

He didn't move. With heat in his eyes, he continued to grip the paintbrush and study me. "I'm sorry about a few nights ago."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I rubbed my cock in front of you like a crazy man."

"Oh." I cleared my throat. "That."

"Yes."

"Forget about it," I said. "You didn't take it out and we're both crazy anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because maybe we like each other, but are too broken to figure out a healthy way to be together."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "We're not a romance novel, Merce. This is reality. You and me. I'm not the hero. I'm the villain."

"Oh yes, I forgot." I got more comfortable on the couch. "Well, then I guess all I'll be getting today is my image painted."

He didn't move as he drank me in. "What else do you want?"

"I want to get to know you, and I want you to get to know me."

He smiled. "And what would happen then? We fall in love and dance out into the sunset?"

"It's actually 'ride' out into the sunset. You're pretty bad with happy endings."

"I've been trying to tell you that since we first met."

"You're not even trying to see it any other way."

"Because there's an art to being empty."

"And you've got it down?"

"Exactly." He walked closer to the couch. "Let me give you another proposition."

I giggled. "This should be good. You're always so intense with your propositions."

"Am I?" He leaped onto the couch. I shrieked and cracked up with laughter.

He lay right next to me, but didn't touch me. Still, that damn paintbrush remained in his hand and I wanted him gripping my ass instead. "I can't give you love, but I can give you a committed friendship where I will always be there for you."

"That's love."

"It's not."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes.

"I could give you honesty. I would never lie to you. I would never try to harm you—"

"That's love too."

"Stop interrupting me."

"Fine."

"I can't give you a relationship, but I won't spend time with or fuck anybody else while we are..."

"Dating," I said.

"We're not dating."

"Well, I'm no one's side chick."

"There won't be any other woman for you to be on the side. I just don't want a girlfriend or wife."

"Just sex and friendship?"

"Yes. And your body. I want to taste you. I want to lick you right here." He took his paintbrush and painted an invisible arrow on my thigh that pointed at my sex. "I want that too."

I'd still been focused on that paintbrush as I caught my breath. "Yes, I want that also."

"Can I have you?"

"No."

His face shifted from sex to rage within seconds. It didn't scare me, but it damn sure made me feel powerful knowing how much my saying no affected him. It made me think that I wasn't just some fun chick to fuck and leave. He glared at me as if I was his only salvation and gritted his teeth. "No?"

"No. You can't have me, but I am interested in a one-time fling. One moment of sex. That's it."

He frowned. "I want more than one time."

"How do you know? I could suck."

"I doubt it."

I grinned.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" he asked.

"Enjoying what?"

"Making me beg."

"Is this what you call begging?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Then, you suck at begging."

"Spread your legs."

All the courage I'd had in our conversation left in that moment. "What?"

"I only get one time, right?"

My voice went low. "Yes."

"Then I'll spend my one time tasting you."

"You're...you're just saying that."

"I'm not."

He painted swirls on my thighs, stared at me. several intense seconds moved by. My body burned with desire. And then, he kissed me. His tongue explored my mouth, delivering warm lust to the space between my thighs. I moaned against his lips.

"Merce," he whispered and kissed me some more, running his fingers through my hair. "It scares me how much I want you."

"Why?"

He slipped his hands along my thighs. "Because, it's hard to not fuse sex with emotion." He pulled me closer to him. "I don't want more than sex."

I moved away. "And all I want is more."

He said nothing.

I held an invisible microphone in front of his face. "Your response?"

He cleared his throat. "Well..."

I smiled. "You don't have to answer."

"Yes, I do. You're naked and in front of me. At this point, I'll answer anything you want to know." He kissed me. "Why haven't you answered me yet? It's been two days."

"I've still been going over it all."

"Then, let me help. I haven't dated since I've met you." Sam slipped his hands along my arm. Lust sparked where he touched. My nipples hardened. Another moan fled my lips. I craved him so bad, I needed him instantly moving inside of me.

"I haven't been with any other women since I laid eyes on you. I haven't gone on a date with anyone else." He toyed with my nipples. "I haven't talked to anyone." He squeezed one hungry point and I went wet between my thighs. "I've only spent all my free time with you." He kissed me, devouring my mouth, and I writhed under his lips' caresses. "I know what would help."

Catching my breath, I asked, "What?"

"You should get a sample of what I'm talking about." He pulled away. Hunger blazed in his eyes. "Can I taste you?"

My heart boomed in my chest. I didn't want to be scared or responsible. I just wanted his mouth on me.

"Merce?" he whispered. "Can I taste you?"

I pushed all logic away and risked it all. "Yes, please."

He took his time, sliding down my legs, inch by inch, driving me crazy. And when he finally completed his mission and I lay bare in front of him, he licked his lips and swooped down to devour me.

Oh my God.

He was more than a skilled lover, he'd mastered the game. He could teach a class and hold a seminar.

"Oh, Sam." When I closed my eyes, it was like he had several hands. He caressed my body everywhere, squeezing and massaging. I blazed in hot lust. He nibbled. He bit. He lapped and licked, and I went wet and hungry for him, begging, "Please, Sam, please."

Such a tease, he positioned his fingers between my trembling thighs and whispered, "What do you want, Merce?"

"You. Inside me. On me. Making love to me."

"Oh, Merce, I'm going to do everything to make sure we work. Your voice. The softness of your skin. Your smart little mouth. You keep me hard. You keep me spilling pre-cum in my pants and stroking the tip, when I lay in bed at night."

Shivers of pleasure passed through my body.

"Spread your legs," he whispered and then captured my nipple. "Tell me what you want,"

"Lick me."

"Where?"

"All over my pussy."

Fire blazed in his eyes. "That's it?"

"My clit, please. And stick your tongue inside of me. Lick me. Suck on me."

He spread me open with his fingers. "Say please again."

"Please."

He lowered. What came next was his hot mouth tugging my clit, encasing the throbbing bud in pure pleasure. His tongue toyed with it and then followed my pleas by going deeper inside of me. His tongue and finger play were wicked, something inspired by the devil himself. Nothing heavenly could trigger such twisted, hot pleasure.

My breasts swelled and craved his attention. I touched them for him, not wanting Sam to stop that magic of his mouth.

And then his fingers were inside me, touching and teasing, piercing and caressing. He found my spot and I moaned so loud I was sure my sister's guests heard me outside on the beach.

"Aww. Do you like when I touch this sensitive spot?" He caressed it again with the soft padding of his fingers. I writhed under him. He played with the area again with his finger and lapped at my clit with his tongue. "You tell me you want a one-time fling and I say, we've just begun."

He caressed the spot some more, over and over. Aching pressure rose and tingled through me. The simple touch was mind-blowing.

He flicked my clit, then stroked my sex with his fingers. I tried to touch his pants and rub his cock, but he moved my hand away. "No, I'm doing the convincing."

He plucked at my clit. Hunger throbbed through my body. Something inside of me shifted. My body began to climb higher and higher.

"This is what I want to give to you. Anytime you want it."

I moaned in satisfaction.

"And no other man can touch you." He plucked at my clit again and then penetrated my sex with two fingers.

"Sam." Grabbing the couch pillows with both hands, I arched up and rocked into his fingers.

"How many times do I get to have you?"

"Oh, Sam."

"No, that's not an answer." He removed his fingers, lowered, and just when I was about to protest and beg for him to return, he slid his tongue through my sex. The whole throbbing slit. The whole space between my thighs. Every inch, he licked. Places that men had never licked on me. By the end, my body was shaking and throbbing and he knew my pussy better than I did. I bet he could draw an image from memory.

And then, he rose and unbuckled his pants.

My chest rose and fell like I'd been running.

He unzipped and opened them. Wearing nothing under it, he freed his cock—this huge pulsating monster in his hands—and stroked himself, from the tip to his balls. Pre-cum dripped from the point. I almost forgot to breathe.

With his free hand, he sucked on his fingers—the ones that had just been inside of me. He licked them and groaned. "How many times do I get to fuck you?"

I panted. "Whenever the hell you want to."

"Good. I love that answer." And then he stopped, removed his hands, and looked at me. "So, is that a yes?"

"What?" I panted.

"I have you for as long as we stay here."

"What? No. I mean. I don't know." I squirmed, wanting his hands back on me. "Can we talk about this later?"

"You just said that I could have you anytime."

"Of course, I did. You're close to making me come."

"And you say anything when you're close to orgasm?"

"Yes," I muttered.

Again, he licked the finger that had been inside of me. "Damn, Merce. I can't just taste a little and then hear you say no a day later. I want an answer right now, and I want it to be yes, and then I want my dick inside of you seconds later."

I blinked.

Silence hit us again. The mood left. We were both at a standstill going around in circles. He was right. I had to put my foot down and stop dragging along.

Letting out a long breath, he put his cock away. "I think it's pretty clear that we want to have sex. It's just all the things that happen afterwards."

"I...already like you. Each time I'm with you, I want to spend more time with you." My hormones raged through my body. Surely, my sex felt like I'd betrayed her. "I like you a lot and I wouldn't want to walk into anything sexual with you without knowing that you wouldn't..."

"What, Merce?"

"Hurt me." I frowned. "Can you really promise that? If you can, I would consider it. You said you've done this kind of thing before. Have you ever broken anyone's heart?"

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth.

"O-kay. But...were there others, besides the one person's heart you broke?"

"Yes." He wore a pained expression.

"And were they broken-hearted too?"

"Yes."

"Are you kidding me?" I rose and covered my breasts.

"It could be different for us. We're friends."

"Or it would make me fall even deeper, Sam. Did you ever love any of these women?"

"No."

"Not one?"

"No. After my...ex, I won't even consider opening up my heart for anyone."

I blinked. "And now your heart is safely tucked away in some elaborate safe?"

"Yes."

"But..." I decided to just say what I had to say. I was already naked. He'd already had his fingers inside of me. What would I have to lose? "Maybe, you could unlock that safe and at least consider opening your heart to me. What do you think?"

The fire weakened in his gaze. It hurt to watch it. This cold darkness fell upon him, changing his expression. His whole face—the whole moment—went hard and tense. The boy I knew as Samuel no longer lay on my couch.

It was now Sam. And he looked like a man that could not be changed. Even worse, he looked like a man that would never consider love.

"No, Cherry Coke." The nickname sounded wrong coming from this masked man.

"No, what?"

"No, I won't consider it."

My already damaged heart broke in that moment. "You won't even try?" I asked. "I'm not asking you to marry me or even be my boyfriend. I'm just saying—"

"You're right. This was a mistake. I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't even be trying this with you."

"But—"

"You're my friend. I shouldn't be trying to fuck you. I shouldn't be...dirtying up the one good thing in my life."

I sighed. "Maybe, you're right."

He formed fists on the sides of his legs, but said nothing.

"In fact, I should go." I grabbed a pillow and covered my chest. "I feel like we're traveling the wrong way down a one-way street and if we keep this up, we won't just be lost, we'll crash and burn."

He remained silent, making me think that he agreed. It was embarrassing to rise naked and pick up my things. I felt so stupid and confused.

Why not just screw him?

I couldn't think of anything else in those seconds, but something in my heart said no. Even worse, his past relationship history didn't sound good. I didn't like my odds for not getting hurt.

I wrapped myself in the fur I'd worn earlier. "So...goodbye. I'll leave the coat in the changing room."

"Take that one too."

"No, thank you. Besides, I live in Cali. I won't need two furs."

"Okay." He let out a long breath and rolled over on his back. "We should stop the painting sessions too. It's fun, but my dick is always in pain afterwards."

"Okay. Maybe, that's a good thing." I put my back to him.

It took me no time to change. I drowned in embarrassment and confusion.

I didn't even say goodbye to Emma as I hurried out of there, walking fast from Sam's house to Dolphin View.

Well...that sucked gigantic balls.

Inside Dolphin View, chaos and the sound of plates shattering greeted me. It appeared that my favorite couple—the blonde woman and dark-haired man—were also guests of my sister's place. A crowd stood around them as Blondie picked up a plate from the dining table and slung it her dark-haired lover. With great reflexes, he ducked. The plate crashed into the wall behind him.

Grace launched for the woman. "Okay. Okay. Calm down."

"Give her some space." Tracy gestured for the man to get out of there.

"I hate you!" Blondie screamed, fell to the ground, and cried. "I wish I never fucking met you!"

And all the guests whispered and shook their heads.

I spent the rest of the night cleaning up Blondie's mess. Lobster dripped from the chandelier, spinach covered one of the walls, and then there were all the shattered pieces of fine china scattered all over the carpet. Knowing my sister, Blondie would get a big bill for all of this.

Meanwhile, Blondie should consider entering herself in a throwing contest. She has an arm on her.

Tracy and Grace spent the rest of the evening trying to get control of the couple. The men—Tracy and Dark-Hair—calmly talked in the living room, both smoking a cigar and sipping brandy. Outside on the deck, Grace rocked a crying Blondie in her arms.

Maybe Sam has a point. Perhaps we all should stop trying to love and just screw the pain away.

* * *

_Sam_

It rained the next days. Not a heavy storm, just a continuous shower from morning to the afternoon. I remained in the studio, painting. Neither Merce or I contacted each other. A few times, I spotted her outside of my window, handing out umbrellas to guests and grabbing the mail. For a few seconds, I considered going out to talk to her.

But I never did. There was too much of an ache in my chest. When she left me in the studio that day, this ache came, and it wasn't a little cut. Pain sliced through me, and I didn't fucking like it. I wanted it gone. Didn't I already have enough to deal with—the darkness and depression, the insomnia and the memories of pain? That sick bitch, Rachel had robbed me of my dreams. My heart was underground. And here I was, dealing with an injury—a pain in my chest— that I no longer understood.

I could've settled all of this by just giving Merce what she wanted. I could've tried to open my heart. For her, it was no big deal. But for me, it was like I was trapped in a dark cave with a little flame from a candle. Although I slowly crept along the cave's rocky walls, searching for an opening or some way to escape, I couldn't find it. All I could get was an echo of her voice and a chilly breeze.

Am I just finding ways to trick my heart?

Getting close to her didn't just mean opening my heart. It meant opening myself to more possible grief and losses. I'd done the right thing, but that still didn't soften the blow.

She'd left, and it hurt.

She wanted me out of the cave and ready to feel again. I wasn't so sure I wanted to get out of the safety of my cave. Was it better to live a long life in darkness, or was it better to die fast while basking in the sunshine outside?

And so, I did what I always did. I closed myself into my studio and painted the days away. When I didn't paint, I gazed at the window and searched for her.

After Rachel, Merce was the only woman to drive me to this sort of madness.

Even my art showed it. I'd created the gloomiest images. I captured all the hurt from Merce walking away, drawing her as a half-woman, half-skeleton creature covered in wilting roses. In image after image, she strolled an enchanted garden of death. Moonlight hit her skin and bones in a majestic blaze. She glowed on the canvas. I'd outlined her in such a way that I'd somehow enclosed color and breath in each image. She lived through the paint. For the viewer, sight was also touch.

For the past few nights, I lay on the studio's couch with her fur warming me. Sleep never came. Instead, I thought about that moment where she took the bikini off. We'd been so close to falling over the edge. Did we make the right choice? Or were we both stupid cowards?

And her body. So soft. So silky. So wet. Jesus.

But even though I'd been ready to explode from not screwing her. I'd been so close, too damned close to having her and I threw it all away.

I could've told her that I would try. I could've told her that I wouldn't hurt her. I could've told her anything that would've made me deserve her.

A knock sounded at the door.

I continued loading colors onto my palette, looking for a way to make the bones appear more real. "Come in."

Steve walked in with a small box. "I'm glad you're not dead."

I set the paintbrush down. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't left this studio in days."

"I'm painting."

"I see." Steve studied the painting of Merce surrounded by bones and death. "It looks like you're in a great mood too."

"What's in the box?"

"The letters from Rachel."

"Put them in my bedroom's closet." I didn't want any more bad memories in this studio. Merce's leaving was enough.

He looked at the canvas and shook his head. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Painting."

"Everyone on the island is going to Dark Haven tonight. Blood Rain has a concert there to kick off Fantasy Fest. It'll be packed. I bought us a table."

"You wasted your money." I picked up the brush and added more color to Merce's eyes.

"Come on, man."

"Thanks, but I'm fine."

"Okay, but you'll regret it." He remained right there.

I glanced at him. He smiled. I returned to the painting.

Ever since we were kids, everyone knew that Steve was the trickster of the family. He always did crazy things behind people's backs. When we were teens, Steve paid a Keys high school beauty queen to take Sebastian's virginity. The next time we came down, Steve snuck into a club, drank illegally, and then went into the club owner's office to threaten him into letting Stacy play a song there on a busy night. And there were so many times he'd tried to fix Merce and me up. This trip, I was hoping the women and booze would keep him busy and minding his own business.

"I bought Grace and Merce a table too. It's next to ours."

I held the brush in midair.

He's like a teenage girl, hoping to set her BFF up with a prom date.

Steve continued, "Grace was excited. She's making it a Ladies Night. She talked about inviting her friends from some place called Soul Tribe. Have you heard of it?"

"Merce told me about it being a holistic center and that it offered some art class that talked about healing."

"That's boring. What did you hear about the women? Hot? Sexy?"

"I got the feeling it's one of those one-stop alternative medicine places. Like yoga and whatever."

"So, these women are probably flexible?"

I set the brush down and rubbed my face with both hands. "Did Grace say she was definitely coming tonight?"

"Yes. And Merce is going, along with two of Grace's other friends.

"I know what you're trying to do. It won't work."

"Sure, it won't." Steve patted my back. "Be ready by eight."

I didn't respond. There was no need to. If Merce would be there, I would be there too. The last thing I wanted was her in some club surrounded by hungry men ready to bite her sexy flesh. She had no idea how fucking captivating she was.

And I told myself that I would protect her from other men because I was a good friend. She wanted to heal. She didn't need any douche-bags around her. But on the inside—my subconscious—it knew what was really going on in my mind. There was no way I could deal with any other man in Merce's life right now. Maybe in a month or a year, but right now, I couldn't deal with it.

Maybe I could try. It's only been a day since seeing her and I feel like I'm losing it.

After I finished the painting, I showered and dressed. Steve drove his car and I took mine. There would be no doubt that he'd take a ton of women home tonight. He loved making our house the after party.

We arrived there in no time. I spotted Grace's purple Beetle in the back of the lot. My heart sped up. I had to breathe in and out to calm down. I felt like I hadn't seen Merce in weeks.

Steve got to my side as we entered. "Thursday nights at Dark Haven are always crowded, but this is crazy."

People had already started parking several blocks down.

Dark Haven was a lot of things, but it definitely wasn't part of the real world. Since it was a big tourist spot, they always had some fun dress up theme and a live band. And once a month, they removed all the electrical equipment and furniture and filled the whole place up with bubbles. I hadn't gone to one of these suds parties, but Steve had raved about them.

Is she here?

Inside, the club burst with activity. People rocked and swayed all over the dance floor. Blood Rain stood above them on the stage, jamming as always.

"He danced wild like a beast, on the dark side of the moon." The lead singer strummed his guitar and leaned toward the microphone. "And she was the seed of a forbidden fruit, picked too soon."

Steve guided us to his table. We'd only been here for barely three weeks and he already had his own table in the VIP section on the second level. He'd explained that it was reserved for him nightly.

"They met on a quilt, patched from burning dreams." The drums picked up. "And then he kissed her soul, until her heart screamed."

"We'll get a good view up here." He pulled out my chair. "It's always the best for King Steve of the Keys."

"Stop showing off." I sat down and looked at the empty table next to us. Red balloons dangled from the four chairs. A large bouquet of colorful roses and lit candles sat in the center along with four glasses full of champagne, and four plates with lobster tails, truffle fries, and bowls of chocolate covered strawberries next to the dishes. There were lipstick marks on two of the glasses.

"That's their table. I ordered the stuff for them." Steve winked at me. "I did good, right?"

"That depends. Are you trying to seduce Grace and Merce?"

"No, just saving you from yourself."

"How's that?" I asked.

"It's clear you want Merce and she wants you. When you two are together, you already look like a couple." He shrugged. "I figure that if you two aren't already screwing by now, it's because of you."

I frowned and turned to the dance floor.

It wasn't hard to find Merce. She was the shortest one on the dance floor. Once I spotted her, there was no need to look at anyone else. She had all my attention.

"Don't look back now, baby. You'll burn alive," Blood Rain sang together. "They'll be ashes in your heart and fire in your eyes."

She wore a pair of red heels and a matching slip dress with a little black shawl wrap. The dress barely hit her knees. It was classy, but so fucking sexy—and too goddamn revealing for my sanity.

"Don't look back now, baby. He's so sweet. Keep on closing your eyes so you won't burn from the heat."

From side to side, she swung those hips. Grace and her friends danced around Merce. They looked like they were enjoying themselves, shouting out the band's lyrics and clapping.

The image of her, naked, flashed in my head. The tip of my dick throbbed.

"You're welcome," Steve said on my side.

Our waitress came over and set water down. Steve ordered two glasses of whiskey on the rocks for us. Once the waitress left, he nudged me. "So, am I right? You're still working on Merce?"

"Something like that."

"Either you're going to screw her or not."

"We decided it would be a bad idea."

"You mean, she decided?"

"She wanted more." I took a swig of my drink. "We hadn't even started screwing and she wanted to know the parameters of what we would become."

"Of course. Because you two have history. Had it been a chick you picked up from a bar, it would've been a hit it and quit it or a repeat the next night." Steve tried his whiskey. "Merce can't be a fuck buddy."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not interested anymore."

"No?" Steve nodded. "Oh good. Then, you can paint someone else and let me have a try with Merce."

I snapped my face to him.

He raised his hands and laughed. "Yeah. I thought so. It does matter."

"Fine. It does matter." I gave up on anymore conversation. Once Steve shifted into Mother Hen mode, there was no yanking him out of it. Protecting my shattered and unstable mind was a hobby for him and my whole family. And the last thing I need is Steve working anymore angles behind our backs. He'll end up having us both in jail.

"Still painting?" Steve wiped the bar with his cloth.

"You know I'm painting."

"What about doing something else?"

"I might sign up for a literature class next week at that Soul Tribe place we were talking about."

"Good. Find out if they shave."

I didn't want to laugh, but it came out of me. "That'll be the first thing on my list."

"Good." He took a swig of his drink. "And I'm glad you're going to check this place out. Writing could be a great way to, you know." He shrugged. "Heal."

Heal?

I struggled with not cringing. Heal? There was no possibility of healing from what I'd been through. All I could do was keep moving forward and try my best to forget about the past.

"Yeah. Writing could help me heal." I grabbed the glass of water, put my back to him, and took a sip as I leaned back in my chair.

While Merce had given me an erection, Steve's conversation had taken it away.

On the dance floor, Merce continued to dance to the beat. She looked so fucking sexy. Those curves, those hips, how that ass bounced. Her breasts jiggled, barely remaining in that tiny dress. She'd caught more than enough attention from the men around her. A few inched her way, probably waiting for a slow song before asking her to dance.

The song ended and a new one came on with a slow tempo.

I finished my glass. "I'll be right back."

Steve nodded.

Cool liquor slipped down my throat. The bitter taste of key lime clung to my tongue. The drummer slowed his pace. The music taunted the audience. The singer lowered his lyrics to almost a murmur over the song.

"Haunting."

I headed down the stairs and toward the dance floor. People danced around me in violet dim light.

"So delicate, you're haunting me."

The crowd moved to the mellow beat, swaying, gyrating, and rocking into their partners. Sweat and sex drenched the air.

"I'll chase you. I'll run your way. I'll take you. Oh baby, won't you stay?"

Lost in the rhythm of the music, Merce hadn't seen me yet. And so, I watched her within the shadows of the night club, wanting to touch her the way the light danced on her skin. Even several feet in front of me, her scent lingered my way. Her presence drowned the space. I could taste Merce on my tongue, sweet and bitter. I imagined her soft flesh between my teeth as I tenderly bit down on her flesh.

"Rose-wet. Sweet sex."

And then, for some reason, Merce turned around and her eyes targeted me.

"Haunting me. Taunting me."

I couldn't read what was in her eyes. However, I struggled with moving and couldn't budge an inch. Her focus imprisoned me in that spot as violet light flickered across her face and people partied around us.

"Drink. Let's both be drunk off each other."

Her view remained planted on me and I was paralyzed, unable to flee. My heart pumped blood into my ears in a rhythmic motion like the bass of a techno song. My stomach clenched into bound knots of tension. Beads of sweat formed at my temples. And then something simple happened.

Mercedes looked away, and I was free.

There was no denying it any longer. Merce had power over me.

I wanted to walk away, get to the house, pack my bags, and get the hell out of there.

"Not again," my heart would say, if it could speak. "Not again. Don't you fall for anyone else! We're still repairing the damage from that bitch."

But who was I kidding? Was it only me? In these few days, she'd been softening my hardness down without even trying. Pushing away at my walls and making me want again.

"Honey kisses. Velvet caresses. She undresses and then I lose control."

With her back to me, she didn't return to the upbeat dancing. Instead, she remained frozen while Grace and the other women rocked and sang out the lyrics.

"Haunting."

Merce glanced over her shoulder again and I motioned for her to come to me. She shook her head, and I damn near raced toward her.

"So delicate, you're haunting me."

Some guy walked up to her. He was shorter than me with blue eyes and brown hair and pale white skin.

I frowned.

Walk away.

There was no way I could watch her dance within anyone else. She had to know I wouldn't stand by and allow it. Did she have any fucking idea how I felt about her?

But the guy looked like he was on some sort of mission. Determination blazed in his eyes. He got her attention by slipping his hand around her waist. She turned to him, jerked back, and moved his hand away. I couldn't make out her words, but she looked pissed as she backed up and angrily said something to him, her hand wagging back and forth.

Don't fucking go over there. You know you're not going to act right.

The guy pushed his mission further. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, but in a way that suggested he was trying to eat her face. Jealousy knotted my gut.

It was barely two seconds before she reared back and slapped the shit out of him.

Now, my turn.

With no hesitation, I walked over to them, ready to break open his head. I already didn't appreciate the way he'd touched her, and now it was clear that she possibly knew him and didn't want his company.

In no time, I got to them. They both looked my way. She widened her eyes. Rage decorated his face.

"Excuse me." The guy put his arm around Merce's shoulder. "I'm talking to my fiancée right now."

"We're not together anymore, so stop it." She moved his arm and turned to me. "Sam, I've got this. I'm fine."

I looked at him. "Go away."

"Excuse me?" He twisted his face in confusion. "Mercedes, who's this?"

"Sam, I have this." Merce got between us and turned to me. "This is Artie. He's my ex."

"You don't have to explain who I am to him." Artie wrenched her his way.

Furious, I yanked him away from her. "Don't touch her."

Grace appeared. "Oh shit! Artie, what are you doing here?"

The other women surrounded us. Some of the people near us slowed from their dancing and pointed our way.

I leaned toward him and whispered in his ear, "Go away, before I embarrass you in front of these people."

Artie widened his stance, and I knew then he wasn't planning to go anywhere. I knew by the change in his expression, the sudden hard jut of his jaw, he was going for it.

I clapped a hand down on his shoulder and spun him around. "You're leaving now."

"Back off. Who the hell are you?" He stumbled to the side, his eyes widening. Surprise flickered over his face as he glared at Merce. "You're screwing him now? Already, bitch?!"

"Bitch?" I grabbed him by his neck and dragged him to the wall. People yelled. I was sure one of them were Merce. Someone grabbed at my back. Others yelled. The music stopped. Yet, nothing stopped me. Adrenaline and rage fueled inside me.

I slammed him against the wall. "I said go away."

I punched him in the face. "Now."

He tried to hit me back, but was too busy guarding his face as I crashed my fist into him again. More people yelled. Others screamed.


	9. Chapter 9

**See I am not to mean to leave you long with a cliffhanger. **

**Chapter 9**

_Sam_

Steve's voice came next. "Sam!"

Big men pulled us apart. The lights came on. People scattered away. Others took out their phones.

And finally, I let him go.

He fell to the floor, dripping with blood.

"Sam, get out of here, man." Steve pulled me back.

Merce was on his side, walking over to Artie as two bouncers helped him. Artie stumbled around and mumbled something.

"Sam, let's go." Steve grabbed my arm. "They might call the cops."

"Throw some money at them." I walked after Merce and touched her arm.

She turned to me with horror on her face.

"Come with me," I said.

"Why? I told you I had him, Sam. Why did you—"

"He called you a bitch."

"You can't fight everyone that calls me a bitch. You would be tired for days."

"Let's talk about it outside."

"But—"

"Please." I gestured to half of the crowd looking at us and the rest taking in Artie as he was carried away. "I'm sorry, okay? But we need to talk."

"Fucking hell." Steve wrenched his wallet out of his pocket. "At least get her and you out of here so I can clean this up."

"Thanks, man," I said.

"Get the hell out of here."

I motioned for Merce to follow me. She reluctantly obliged. Her expression said she was pissed as she kept glancing over her shoulder at Artie.

We got outside and continued to my car.

She stopped in front of it. "Are we talking inside of your car?"

Police sirens blared off in the distance.

I ran my fingers through my hair. "I was thinking we could go somewhere quieter."

She looked off in the siren's direction and sighed. "Are you calm?"

"Yes." I walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. "I'm sorry."

She got in. I closed the door, hurried over to my side, jumped in, and sped off in the opposite direction of the police.

My heart hammered in my chest. It wasn't that I was scared to go to jail. I just needed time to make this up with Merce. If the cops wanted to grab me later, it would be fine. But I had to make this right with her now.

I rounded the corner and sped down the boulevard. Restaurants and clubs raced by us. The bridge appeared in front of us and I continued onto it. Thankfully, Merce made no sound of protest. I just had to get off Key West and give us some distance.

After a while, I'd continued so far, we cruised down the Seven Mile Bridge that connected Marathon key to Bahia Honda. On the left, old unused bridges jutted out of the dark rippling water. Some were recycled structures used as fishing piers. In silence, we passed others that still stood, but were abandoned and obsolete, crumbling, dead skeletons hovering over the ocean. During the day, when I looked down, I could see strings of coral pearls below. Tonight, it was only various shades of black rippling under us.

I looked Merce's way. Her chest rose and fell like she'd been running.

Guilt hit me. "I'm sorry. I might've gone too far."

"You beat him like you caught him raping me."

"He kissed you."

"I already slapped him for it."

"Doesn't matter. I didn't get to slap him." I gripped the steering wheel hard and turned off to Bahia Honda, following the signs to an old friend's dock. It was the only place I could think of for us to have complete privacy. There was a mini, man-made beach out there and nothing but quiet and shadows.

After a minute of silence, she said, "Artie was drunk. He usually isn't that bad."

"So, I shouldn't have punched him?"

"I don't know." She let out an exasperated breath. "Either way, he'll live."

She sighed. "Why did you do that? I had him under control."

"How many times did he cheat?"

She blinked. "It doesn't matter."

"He deserved a few punches."

She shook her head. "That's not the point, Sam. I was dealing with him. That doesn't give you the right to show up like some deranged super hero, slam him several times into a brick wall, and punch his freaking lights out."

I turned the car into the docking entrance. No one was supposed to be out here now, but the local police barely patrolled. At least, that was how it had been in my day. I parked within the shadows and got out of the car.

She left too. "Why did we come out here?"

I walked back to the trunk, opened it, and grabbed a huge blanket. "I wanted to talk somewhere far away."

She wrapped her shawl tight around her. "And what do we need to talk about?"

"Us."

"I thought we settled that."

"You thought wrong."

She frowned.

"I want to add some things," I said.

"Like?"

"Anything that would get you back on my couch and naked."

"What you did to Artie can't happen again."

"I know."

"Do you punch people a lot?"

I closed the trunk and set the blanket on top. "Are you asking if I have an anger management problem?"

"Yes."

"I do, when it comes to any man touching a woman that I don't want touched." I walked over to her. "You don't want your ex punched again, make sure he doesn't kiss or call you a bitch again."

"No, you don't punch anyone over me again." Sighing, she leaned against my car.

"Had he not touched you and walked away, he would've been fine." I continued her way, got in front of her, and trapped her between the car and me, placing my hands on the car behind me. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Don't punch anyone over me again."

"Okay," I lied, tilting my head and studying her for a moment. "You smell amazing too."

"Thank you." She stared into my eyes. "You scared me."

I stepped in close and pressed against her. I loved being so close. Her nipples hardened against my chest. "I won't scare you again."

"Okay." She shivered, and I knew right there that she craved me as much as I craved her.

I bit my lip as heat radiated between us. "That was stupid. I've done a lot of stupid things recently."

"Like what?"

I kissed her. Needing to taste her, I increased the pressure of the kiss and touched the tip of my tongue to hers. She tasted sweet, but I wanted more. I wanted all of her.

Merce wore the innocent and sweet look all day, but on the inside she was an evil, evil woman. She already had me strung and I hadn't even put my dick inside of her. And damn, I wanted to with every cell in my body. But I had to get things clear first. If she thought this was going to be a one-time thing then she was wrong. I didn't even know if I would let her go. It felt too good to be around her. I wanted to bask in the sunshine for as long as I could. I needed the heat before the storm came.

And the storm would come. There was always rain and winds and tornadoes in life. But right now, I wanted my sun, my Merce, naked and on her back in front of me.

I kissed her some more and when I let go, she whispered, "Sam, we said we would just be friends."

"That's another stupid thing I've done this week." I nipped at her lip.

She trembled against me. "But—"

"I have regrets. I should've said I would try to open my heart to you. In fact...I should've just tried. And most of all, I should've made you come." Without hesitation, I pulled up her dress, found soft panties, and delved my fingers beneath the waistband, encountering wet, silky skin.

She moved my hand away.

"Damn it," I groaned. "Let's try it."

She trembled against me. "Try what?"

"Whatever you want."

* * *

_Mercedes_

"Whatever I want?" I asked.

"Yes." There was a sweet tone to his voice. Sweet and sexy. It put me on edge. Sam in this mode would be my heart's destruction. The look on his face was nothing like the way he'd looked at me earlier. Before, it had been teasing and mischievous. Now, he looked hungry and lovesick.

My belly flip-flopped.

"Let's stop playing around and try this," he said. "Try us."

"Try us?"

"I'll try to open my heart to you."

Try? Is that good enough?

Maybe it would have to be. I didn't know everything he'd been through, but him trying was better than him shutting himself away from me completely.

"It's not like I want love," I said. "I just don't want to be a sex toy. An object that you can dirty up and discard when you're done."

"I would never do that to you." He raked his fingers through his hair. "What are we going to do, Cherry Coke?"

"I'm thinking."

"Maybe we think too much and should just do." He bit his lip. "I thought about you that night after you left me. I painted you for the past days. I bet I'll be thinking about you even more tonight and the night after and after. That's all I have."

"What do you mean that's all you have?"

"Everything else I'm feeling, I can't think of the words yet. They're there, just not on my tongue."

A deep tremor went through me, desire splintering through restraint. Although the wind blew through my hair, my body was warm from the fire rising within me. I couldn't say a word.

"I won't hurt you." He backed up and grabbed my hand. "I won't scare you again, either." He guided me to the front of his car. "And if I still have a heart, I'll find it for you."

He leaned his head to the side. Moonlight slid across the dark layers of his hair.

"I'll take it out of that safe," he whispered. "I'll give it to you."

I swallowed, trying to get my words together. Days ago, I'd walked away from him, thinking that there would be no hope in us trying. Each time I slept, I dreamed about him. Each time I woke up, I thought about him, glancing out the window every few minutes to get a glimpse of his face.

And then Artie had showed up out of nowhere, freaking me the hell out. And then Sam had appeared, beating the shit out of him.

Frankly, I was just in the moment, trying to take it all in and not lose myself in the insanity.

"You have nothing to say?" Kissing me, he wrapped his scent, his hard, muscular body around me. "Let's try it. We would have fun."

"I want to. I'm just a little scared."

"It could be good." He devoured my lips. "It could be more than good."

I whispered against his mouth. "How good?"

"So good, you'd have a book to write and I'd have something special to think about in my worst times and paint forever." He grabbed the back of my thighs and lifted me up onto the hood.

I shrieked, and he captured me in his arms. I spread my legs, unable to control my body anymore. He was too close, and I wanted him. It was all I'd thought about for the past days. It was all that played in my dreams.

"Talk to me, Merce."

"I'm just trying to make sense of it all."

"You need some convincing?" He pressed his erection between my legs. Even with his jeans on, I could feel the thickness between the material.

Before I could respond, he gently pushed me down and had me lying on the car.

"What are you doing?" I panted.

"You know what I'm doing." Inch by inch, he lifted my dress up my thighs. "Instead of being an asshole to you in my studio, I should've tasted you."

I shivered, stifling the moan that wanted to flee my throat.

"I should've licked your pussy all night." He lowered, shoved my dress to my waist, and ripped my panties away.

Gasping, I tried to rise, but it was lackluster.

It didn't matter anyway. Sam spread my legs wider. Heat pulsed through my blood. Panting, I couldn't even catch my breath. I looked above me as the stars sparkled and hovered over us. Next came the soft, searing touch of his lips. His mouth lingered, drifting to the inside of my thigh. "Damn, you smell so good."

His warm breath skittered against my skin. He leaned further between my legs, the feel of his body heavy and sweet wherever it pressed.

Another kiss, higher, where the skin was more sensitive. Lusty sensations washed over me. Slowly, his hands eased beneath my panties and slid them down my legs. He moved higher, his palms sliding over my hips and stomach, his lips following and intensifying every sensation. "Can I have you?"

"Yes." Gasping, I sank back, giving up on considering any logic. My body went weak.

In a haze of excitement and lust, I closed my eyes and drowned in intense pleasure of his touch. I wanted it so badly that nothing else mattered.

"I'm going to kiss your little pearl and show you how sweet my mouth can be." With his hands and mouth, he made love to me.

A dark current of desire rushed through me, dissolving my bones in liquid fire. He stroked my sex with his thumb.

The heat of his breath came next and then the pressure of his mouth opening against me…a hot stroke of his tongue, a gentle tug with his mouth. He lapped at my pussy in a perfect rhythm, teasing with luscious kisses to my clit.

"You're wet for me." He pulled my legs over his shoulders and licked between my folds, soft and provocative laps of hot velvet against my sensitive flesh. My chest heaved as he circled my clit with the tip of his tongue, nudging my throbbing bud. I couldn't deal with the pleasure of it all as I moved my hips.

"Sam, please."

He dined, sliding his tongue deep.

"Oh Sam." Uncontrollably, I tunneled my fingers into his hair and rocked into him, forcing his tongue deeper. Such a pro, he flicked my clit and made me groan even louder. My leg flexed against his back, urging him closer.

"Damn it, you taste so good." Growling, he sucked my aching bud.

How?

It was the only word that kept running through my head. How did he know what would make me crazy? How did he know how to lick me just right and make me go wild? How could I ever walk away from him again?

My body shook.

He moaned. "How does it feel, baby?"

"So good. I'm going to come all over you."

"Show me." He rubbed his tongue over and over my pussy, working his mouth. His hands cupped my ass, caressing and urging me onto his tongue as he thrust it inside me. There was skill in the greedy way he owned me, and there was this unmistakable sense that he would worship me forever.

"Oh, Sam." The orgasm rose in my core.

"Cum for me, baby." He circled my pussy with his lips, massaging the bud with the tip of his tongue.

"So close." The orgasm roared through me in a sweltering wave.

"There we go."

"Sam," I cried out, pumping my hips mindlessly into his mouth, lost to the primal connection between us. Sam held me as my legs weakened, tonguing my quivering flesh until the last tremor faded.

Then he ripped open his jeans and freed the most gorgeous cock I'd ever seen.

"Do you know how long I've been thinking of this moment?" He positioned that thick length at the opening of my sex.

"Wait." I rose from the hood. "We need protection."

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath and dragged himself away. His muscles flexed as he rushed to the passenger side of his car and rummaged through it. A click sounded. It must've been his glove box. In seconds, he raced back like a mad man, tearing away the packet and putting the condom on in seconds.

"I'm glad I let Steve drive my car last night. Anytime he does, he leaves condoms inside."

"Lucky us," I whispered as I tried to pull up his shirt.

He stopped my hand. His gaze went intense as he captured my lips.

I wanted him inside of me.

He wrapped his arms around me and cupped my ass, lifting me up a little and guiding his cock inside of me. The bulbous head kissed my lips and didn't thrust further.

It wasn't enough.

"Give it to me, Sam. Now."

His gaze seared my eyes. "I won't hurt you."

"I know." I lifted my head.

Our lips found each other. Our tongues tangled. And then he was pushing his cock inside, sinking down, deep into my body.

Jesus.

When he took me, he did it like Artie never could. Sensually slow and dreamlike. Piercing me with his thickness and driving my orgasm over the edge. I rocked with him, humping as he thrust and stroked my insides.

Each plunge of his cock stripped me. My pussy clasped onto that meaty length, clutching him, never wanting to let go. Passion licked my clit, continuously fueled by that persistent thumb of his.

I whimpered as he shoved into me. My pussy battled with accommodating him.

"Sam, you feel so good."

I met his powerful thrusts as he stroked with his thickness. The whole time, the car rocked under us. He rolled his hips and drove his cock into me harder. "You saved me."

A shuddering moan left me.

"Merce." His head fell back as he gasped my name and drove us both toward ecstasy.

"Oh Sam, I'm coming."

"Yes, baby, cum for me."

I came hard and then he shuddered against me, that huge body rocking around me as he continued to shock that length inside of me. "I'll never get enough."

His cock jerked inside me. And then he let go of his control, hammering into me.

"Oh," I shrieked, climaxing again. Or it had never stopped. I was unprepared with what he would do to me. Now, all I could do was ride the pleasure until it stopped.

More sensations rocketed through. The world spun around us. My cries mingled with his loud, hoarse ones. His gaze burned molten with knowledge and satisfaction and promise.

"Yes, Merce, yes," he moaned.

I groaned in lust with him, falling over the edge with no intention of being saved. Together, we floated in hot passion, our moans filling the air. The car rocked as I fell back onto it and he lay on top of me. Our bodies molded together. We became one energy of erotic lust, exploding into each other. My head went dizzy. My heart hammered to the rhythm of our sensual movements.

Then we came together again, hard and groaning so loud I was sure everyone in the Keys heard us.

Never had I felt so blown away, so utterly consumed.

"I want more," I whispered as we lay in each other's arms, exhausted and full of pleasure.

"Good." He kissed me. "I want more too."

* * *

_Sam_

In the darkness, I sat naked inside a huge cage made of bleach-white bones. A broken purple moon hovered above. On the right side of the cage, a line of women sat on their knees with bloody tears dangling from their eyes. Their teeth fell out one at time. On the walls, severed testicles hung near razors and sharpened knives. More bones scattered the earth.

Shaking, I prayed for my life.

God never came. Just Rachel, cackling like an evil witch as she shoved a spoonful of dog food between the bars. A chill slithered into my pores and froze my body.

"No!" I screamed. "Not again!"

"Any other woman will be a miserable replacement of me." Rachel laughed and flung a lit cigarette at me. "She'll smell me on your skin." She slashed at my chest with a rusted knife. "She'll look in your eyes and always find me gazing back at her."

A stack of pictures appeared in our hands. She slung them at me.

I looked at them. They were all old photos of us, happy and together.

"Eat them," she ordered. "I want to move inside of you. I want to be devoured."

"No!"

I woke up to soft, warm arms wrapping around my waist. Chest to breast. Skin against skin. The nightmare faded like wisps of smoke as I slowly became aware of everything.

Merce was holding me to her small body, her breath warm against my cheek. "You're with me, Sam. No one else is here."

I opened my eyes to the darkness around us and the scent of her skin. Moonlight lit the room, and the sounds of the beach through the open window soothed me.

"It's me. No one else." Merce slid over me, a silky, moving shadow. She slanted her mouth over mine and kissed me slow and deep. "You're here. Say it."

I shivered in her arms. "I'm here."

I slid my hands down her curves, wanting her body to drive the nightmare further away.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No." I ran my fingers through her hair, wishing I could see her beautiful face in front of me. "I just want to focus on you."

I slid down and nuzzled between her breasts. I held them, and the nipples hardened against my hands. She gasped as I covered one nipple with my mouth and sucked. Her moan echoed through my bedroom.

She caressed my chest.

What?

I froze right there. It was that moment I realized my shirt wasn't on. Merce must've taken it off. When and how? I got off her and rolled onto my back, trying to remember how we'd gotten to my bedroom in the first place.

I didn't forget the sex outside. It had been worth the huge dent on my car.

But when did my shirt go off? Did she see the scars?

"What's wrong?" She rose, rolled to her side, and lay on my chest.

I tensed. "Nothing."

How many years had it been since I'd let anyone be this close to me without my shirt on?

"How did we get here?" I asked.

"You drove us back."

As she said it, the visual hit my head. In that moment, I remembered I'd wanted her some more and begged her to come back to my bedroom.

Merce continued, "When we got to the house, Steve opened the door and yelled at you while you carried me upstairs like a madman, talking about police and money and hairy hippies."

I nodded. "Okay. That memory's coming back too. Why do I keep picturing a bottle of whiskey?"

"Steve brought it in, when he came back to apologize for yelling at you. And then the three of us had shots...lots of them. And then...he brought out another bottle."

"I don't remember the second bottle."

"You passed out after we finished that one, and then he carried you to bed and closed the door. I followed and figured you were hot, so I took off your clothes."

Dread always hit me the first time anyone saw the scars. I closed my eyes, glad she couldn't see the uncomfortable expression I must've been wearing on my face. "And?"

"And then I turned off the lights and passed out next to you." She caressed the top of my chest.

I bit my lip as her fingers got close to a scar, one that had long since healed but was still raised, rough, and weirdly sensitive. It was the smiley faced o that Rachel had drawn over my heart. But she didn't touch it. Instead, those soft fingers traveled down the ribboned path of scars going to my navel.

Part of me wanted to stop her. The other part felt relieved she wasn't disgusted.

She lifted her hand. "What's wrong? You went stiff."

"It's been a minute since someone's spent the night."

"Oh...should I have left?"

"No. Never that. It's just." I cleared my throat. "I don't like taking off my shirt."

"Because of the scars?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

"And you don't want me to touch them, either?"

I rubbed my face with both of my hands and rose, switching the light on. "Why would you want to?"

Maybe, she didn't get a good view of them.

I turned to her, sure that she would twist her face in disgust. Everyone else did. Maybe she'd been too drunk when she first took my shirt off. Perhaps, she hadn't really saw what everyone else did?

Ribbons of damaged flesh decorated my abs. Rachel told me that no one would love me and that she'd make sure of it. She'd been right. Usually, women turned their heads in horror. Others cried. Rachel would've been happy to hear it all. She'd gotten what she'd wanted and had done it with hooks and knives, flame from a lighter, and even her own teeth.

"A mad woman's canvas." I studied Merce's reaction.

Her eyes held no sympathy, just rage. I had no doubt in my mind that if my fun-loving hippy Merce ever saw Rachel, she would strangle the psycho.

"I couldn't imagine making love to you and not touching you here." Merce extended her hand to me, but kept the tip of her fingers an inch from my stomach.

"And here too." Merce gestured to other parts of my chest.

I closed my eyes and breathed in and out.

"But, I won't touch you there," she whispered, "if you don't want me to."

What was it about her that made me not give a damn anymore? Was it that she hadn't turned away? .

When they left, it made me feel like a burden. Like I'd gone too far, revealed too much.

She didn't leave. She's different.

I kept my eyes closed and lay back down. "Touch me."

"Where?" she asked.

"Everywhere."

She slipped her hands over the scars. The bed shifted under me as she leaned down and kissed each one. Every burn. Every jagged line. Every inch of me that Rachel had made ugly.

"I want all of you, Sam." She landed kisses around my navel. "I want every bit of you."

"Be careful."

"I don't want to be."

"I'm not easy to love."

"I've never liked easy."

I held her close to me, burying my face into those soft hair and inhaling her scent. "If you keep this up, I may not let you go home. I might keep you in my bedroom forever."

"Maybe I don't want to escape. Maybe, I want you, and I'm going to have you—any way I like." She released me and crawled up my body, sliding her pussy against every scar, every wound, melding her fragrance into me. She continued her journey up until her pussy brushed against my lips. She smelled like soap and cherries. I moaned, and she moistened on my mouth.

My body trembled. No one had ever touched me like this. She lowered back down and balanced on my cock, dragging her nails around the outline of a scar, delivering sweet flutters of bliss along my skin. I groaned, closing my eyes and shuddering more, right under her touch.

Something in my head whispered I should stop her hands and make her leave those marks alone. They were my badges of survival, yet they represented something wrong in my life and in this world. Nothing sensual should've come from what had hurt before. Nothing so erotic should have risen from so much pain.

But it feels so good.

She caressed each wound, every healed gash, and dot of damaged tissue. She touched them like they were an extension of me instead of what made me hollow inside.

"Are there scars on your back?" she asked.

I'd barely heard her. I was so thrown into the moment of her hands on me. "Yes. There are some scars on my back, but not as many as are on my stomach."

She rubbed her hands over the humps of chewed tissue. "Have you ever considered getting a tattoo over them? Lots of people do that kind of thing."

No had ever asked me that, not even my family or close friends from my old college. They skirted around the topic altogether and pretend like nothing happened, meanwhile they monitored every mood I made as if I was a freak. I kept my eyes closed. It was hard to concentrate with every cell centered on her fingers. "I thought about getting a tattoo a few times, but I'm not ready yet."

"Why not?"

"It would feel like it never happened."

"And you're not ready to forget?"

"No."

Silence filled the space as she explored.

"They don't bother you," I whispered.

"I'm a writer which means I'm an avid reader. Writing and reading go together like two horny lovers. And our skin, it tells stories."

Unease settled in my stomach. "I don't want you to read mine."

As if she sensed my unease, she rocked her pussy on top of my cock. "Do you want to be inside me instead?"

And just like that, she'd shifted my mind from darkness to the lust swirling inside.

"Or should I leave?" she asked. "It might be too weird having me here after an appropriate time."

I smiled. "I like how you think you have the freedom to leave."

"I'm breaking your little 'no spending the night' rule."

"You're worth breaking rules over."

"Hmm. Since I'm here, what do you want me to do?" She dove her hands into my boxer briefs and clasped her fingers over my hard cock.

"I want you to ride me."

"I bet you do." She wrenched my erection out faster than I was used to with any woman. It put me on edge, yet pre-cum spilled out of the tip as if she'd been rubbing for several seconds. She stroked me, her hand moving up and down. I grunted in pleasure and ached for more than a touch. She tugged at the head of my cock…hard. The pressure tightened around the rim, stimulating all the sensitive nerves.

I groaned. "As far as I'm concerned, you can move in."

Desire blinded me. All I could think of was shoving myself into her.

She pulled my cock forward and pressed it against her stomach. "I'm going to put you back to sleep."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"All this time I've been dealing with insomnia and all I needed was your sex."

"Exactly."

Everything about Merce invaded my space—her taste, her smell, her soft body against me. Fire blazed in my core. I arched into her, lost in the magic of her mouth as it moved over my chest, her tongue dipping into my navel, then sliding lower to the top of my boxer briefs.

My cock went hard. I opened my eyes and pulled her up to me, taking those demanding lips and sucking on her my lower lip. "You're spoiling me, Cherry Coke."

I rolled her onto her back and devoured those lush breasts. She shivered against me. Breathless moans fled her lips as she looked at me.

Not able to help it, I formed my lips into a frown. Sadly, the anger wasn't for her. It was meant for the lust spreading heat all over my skin.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"I hate the effect you have on me."

"It can't be helped. We're good together. Stop fighting it."

"We're good together?"

"What else could it be? I've never felt this way before, not this fast. Have you?"

"No." Still pissed, I devoured her mouth, unable to hold myself back. My heart feared her, but my body didn't. Around her, my cock was always a volcano ready to erupt. And if Merce was going to be my demise, I'd gladly die in her arms with no regrets.

There was a hunger that had woken me. My body throbbed with life. My vision seemed to transform to clearer eyesight. The effect was like placing a pair of glasses on a near-sighted person. Putting an oxygen mask on someone gasping for life. Giving a rope ladder to a starving and broken man down in a hole.

I made love to her until the sun came up.

We passed out and slept the whole day.

By night, Emma had slipped a note under my door, telling us that she'd prepared dinner for us and that it was in the oven. I went downstairs, grabbed the food, brought it up, lit some candles, and we had a picnic in the center of my studio.

It was hard to not smile in that moment. It felt so good. Being with her felt so good. I kept waiting for something fucked up to happen. It was too perfect. So great. The whole sensation put me on edge, had me looking over my shoulder and waiting for death to come.

After we ate, Merce helped me clean up. "Okay. I should go."

"No."

I'd given her my shirt. She didn't need any more clothes than that.

"Stay." I tugged on the shirt and pulled her toward me. "One more night."

I kissed her before she could respond.

And that one night became another and another. It was frightening how the time had passed. We lay in bed for hours, talking and screwng, drinking and eating, and then screwing some more.

One morning, she told Emma to sit down and showed us both in the kitchen how to make a good fire engine. It was corned beef 'n grits, but with a Bahamian flare. The meat was cooked with chopped onion, oil, thyme, tomato paste, and hot red peppers. No matter how many times I'd tried to make it, I'd never made any as good as Grace's.

That morning, Merce surprised us all, making a fire engine to knock Grace's dish out of first place.

And I couldn't lie, watching her in the kitchen made me feel like it was the best way to start off a day. Having her in my bed did the same job. Merce made every moment special, and more and more I yearned to spend every second with her.

Although Grace had texted her the first night, no one else bothered us. Emma left a few notes. Steve never came up. Everything was perfect. Frighteningly perfect.

And what scared me more was that I felt a change between us. That we were slowly becoming one. Already, I didn't want her to leave, and this wasn't a teenage crush or lust-filled need.

But I knew we wouldn't remain perfect forever. At some point, we would have to go outside. She would need to leave. I would need to let her go. But still, I wrapped my fingers around her hair, thrust my cock into her, and held her to me, triggering the sweetest moans.

In the walls of my bedroom, we were alone in the world. We were a law unto ourselves. We could enjoy, squander, and be one as, passionate lovers.

Inside our room was everything; the true meaning of life. I never thought I would feel this comfortable, this energized again. Granted, far outside, life went on and the ocean waves crashed and people worked and our families worried and Rachel sat in her cage, plotting.

But in my room, there was flawless stillness beyond time.

For two beautiful days, I found myself naked, comfortable, loved, and warm in her arms. We lay close together, complete and beyond the touch of time or change.

And then, on the third day, she went back home, and the world outside came rushing back to us.


	10. Chapter 10

**This is the point that I wanted to rewrite this as a romantic suspense and veer from the original author's work but I am pretty much sick and on cold medicine so nothing I write now would make sense. I don't own any of this just took some things out but left much of pretty true to the original content. Thanks again for the feedback I would usually reply but during moments of lucidity I am interacting with family bless their hearts.**

**Chapter 10**

_Mercedes_

Three days of bliss had passed. Although Sam begged me to stay some more, I had to get home and breathe it all in. Everything had happened so fast. One day, I thought we would never try anything more. The next day, he beat up my ex, made love to me, and then kept me hostage in his bedroom. I am insane as my sister and Tracy have always claimed. I am a certifiable nut. I miss him already.

I checked my watch. It was five in the morning. Right as I touched the knob, Grace held the door open.

"Welcome back," she said.

"Thanks." I walked through. "Do you ever sleep?"

"It's a bed and breakfast," she said. "I always have to get up early to oversee breakfast. Besides, it's Carmen's day off."

"That sucks. Do you need help?"

"Always."

I headed toward the kitchen. "Then, Merce to the rescue."

"Thanks, as usual. I'll be there in a minute. I have to check on that fighting couple from earlier."

"The blonde chick and the dark-haired guy?"

"Yep. They were fighting again last night." She traced a holy cross in the air. "I was scrubbing plantains off the walls until midnight."

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

"No, and Lord help me, I was real close to scrubbing her behind." She waved her hand in the air like she was signaling for God.

"What a waste of good plantains." I frowned, thinking about all that delicious food ruined.

Fried plantains was a universal Caribbean favourite, but while other islanders made them as spicy, crisp chips, Bahamians loved them soft and sweet. Chef Carmen executed plantains that made me want to fall on my knees and marry her.

"What is the deal with those two?" I asked.

"They married before arriving, but he's not a fan of keeping his snake in his pants. They're supposed to be on their honeymoon and the whole time he's been courting other female guests." She headed up the stairs. "I'm just going to make sure she didn't kill him last night."

"Stay safe."

"I will." She disappeared.

I headed for the kitchen. Mouthwatering aroma drifted from there, a perfumed buffet of sweet and savory scents twisting around each other. Silverware rattled. Classic hip hop boomed. An erratic drum beat came next, sounding like someone was hitting wooden spoons to a pot. Tracy must've been in the kitchen.

Everyone else prepared food at a reasonable volume level. However, Tracy made the most noise. He was always drumming pots on counter tops with wooden spoons to whatever beat blasted over his old radio. If not that, then he was free-styling phrases that didn't rhyme or singing with the chorus out of tune. And then there was his dancing—hip circles to anything with a Latin beat, jumping to hard-hitting street ballads, and if a slow groove played, he grabbed anybody near him and spun them around the space. It was a wonder that while he cooked, he didn't harm himself, the dishes, or anyone else.

Grace and I usually avoided the kitchen when he cooked. With all his loudness and craziness, it was just a bit much.

However, we never deterred him from laying down his dishes. While he didn't cook as good as Grace or Chef Carmen, his claim to fame rested in morning meals. I would bet all of my money his breakfast dishes were what made Grace fall in love. Tracy made a mean shrimp and grits with just enough savory and spice with a squeeze of key lime on the top. Like us, he had Bahamian roots so he always did a bowl of boil' fish to start the day, usually using freshly caught grouper, creamy cheese grits on the side, and a sweet wedge of Johnnycake.

As I entered the kitchen, Tracy sang out with the rapper crooning from the radio. "Better have my money with no delay. Better have my money or you'll see this AK. Don't want to make your mother drown in tears. Don't want to make your brothers die in fear."

Grinning, I waved at him. "I see we're playing gospel music today."

"It's gospel in a sense." He winked and turned the radio down.

"Gospel in a sense? The guy is talking about killing people."

"True, but everyone needs to have one favorite gangster rap song in their life."

"Everyone?"

"Yes. These are facts. There's always a time in your life where someone is messing with you, and you let them because you forgot who you are." He went to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. "So, you go to your room or car and you put on that favorite gangster song to amp you up. You turn it on and it just rushes through your blood."

He yanked out a tub of butter. "And then, it's on. Whether you go back to that person who bothered you or not, it doesn't matter. That song reminded you that nobody can mess with you."

"Hmm." I strolled over to the stove to get a better view of those delicious smells.

"Get away from the stove."

"Okay. Okay."

The other problem with Tracy and his cooking was that he was possessive of everything in the kitchen while he worked. No one could touch anything or get too close to the food while he was preparing. Granted, it was probably because once we smelled it, we liked to sneak a taste when he wasn't looking.

"Hungry?" Tracy asked as he pulled out a tray of Johnnycakes.

"Yes." I sat down at the island counter. "However, I came in to help."

"Don't worry about that for now. Go ahead and sit down." Tracy finished what he was doing, shut off the radio completely, and then handed me a Johnnycake covered in butter and jam. "I received a coconut telegraph yesterday."

Of course you did.

Everyone around here called gossip a coconut telegraph. I wondered where Tracy was going with this.

"What did you hear?" I asked.

He washed a fork, dried it, and handed it to me. "I've heard you've been with Sam for these past days."

"Oh. Well, that wasn't a big secret." I pointed at Sam's house. "I was right next door."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

Clearly, I did since I'd been screwing him from morning, noon, and night for the past three days. However, Tracy didn't deserve my smart mouth and he was only looking out for me like he always did.

"Yes, I was with Sam." I grabbed the fork. "And yes, I think it's a good idea."

"Be careful."

"I am."

"You're over here in the same dress from three days ago, grinning from ear-to-ear like you'd just been on a Disney ride."

I have been on a Disney ride and now I'm wondering why I jumped off.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I shoved a piece of Johnnycake into my mouth with the fork. "Most of the time, Sam and I read his Bible and sang psalms about our dear Lord."

Tracy snorted. "Here's my brotherly advice."

I shoveled food into my mouth, dreading whatever he was going to say. At least, the Johnnycake was perfect, warm and melting on my tongue. I decided to get two more.

"Men are good at sexual relationships because we approach most women with our heads instead of our hearts." Tracy made a show of placing his hand on his head and the other on his heart. "Only a few women will have us thinking with our hearts. Those are the ones we end up marrying."

"So, you're saying women don't use their brains when it comes to men?"

"Don't tell your sister I said that."

I pointed my fork at him. "I totally am and you're going to be in so much trouble."

He waved my threat away and continued, "I'm not saying it's a biological thing. Society made it that way. A little boy cries about something, he gets yelled at by his parents. They tell him to man up. Unlucky sons with stupid parents are demeaned and called ugly names like faggot and punk. From the very beginning, boys are trained to not deal with their emotions. Girls on the other hand are free to be emotional."

"Well, at least that's one freedom females are given."

Tracy shook his head. "This is not an invitation to argue about feminism. I'm just trying to get you to understand Samuel. I just don't want you to see salt and think it's sugar."

I stuffed my mouth and mumbled between chewing, "Fine."

Sadly, Tracy wasn't done.

"Emotions rule the heart. Logic rules the head. Women tend to be more emotional. And emotions have no logical basis. There's no reasoning. And when they come strong, they're not open for discussion."

I didn't like where this was going.

"Basically, if you're going to spend time with Samuel, make sure you're both using your hearts or heads. Not you giving away your heart while the whole time he's using his head."

"And how would I tell if he's using his heart?"

"Because he'll start acting irrational."

"Alrighty."

"Don't be a motel room. Be a home."

"Jesus, Tracy. I got it." I finished my Johnnycake, grabbed two more, and decided to make a con leche, pouring steamed milk and sugar into a cup of coffee.

Like a possessive cat, Tracy monitored my movements near the stove the whole time. "Don't sneak any more food."

When I took my cup and food back to the island counter, he returned to what he was doing.

I giggled. "You're so territorial of the kitchen, it's starting to worry me."

"You are always nibbling on everything and Grace is always tasting stuff and adding her little bossy opinions."

"They're not bossy opinions, they're suggestions." Grace strolled into the kitchen. "Well, the guy is alive. Granted, he's sleeping outside of the room with a black eye, but he's definetly breathing."

Tracy wiped down his side of the counter. "I can't wait until they check out."

"Me either." Grace checked the pots steaming on the stove.

Tracy scowled. "Get away from my pots, please."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Did you tell her about Artie?"

"No," Tracy said. "I was just finishing up on my advice about Samuel."

"Oh, God." Grace stirred one of the pots and then placed the top back on it. "I told you not to give her that misogynistic speech. Men are just as emotional as women. And by the way, you need more salt for the fish."

"The fish is fine. I don't want to give the guests hypertension."

Not caring to rehash the gender debate, I asked, "What about did you have to tell me about Artie?"

"He never left." Grace went to the fridge and pulled out a large jug of milk. "That boy checked in here yesterday and said that he is staying on the second floor."

I set my fork down on my plate. "I can't believe he's still here. What the hell does he want?"

"You," Grace said. "That's what he wants. And he's been asking Tracy and me who you were with this whole time."

"It's none of his business."

"That's why I didn't give him any answers."

"Sorry about that. He shouldn't be bothering you." I took a sip of my coffee to swallow down the bad news. "I know you're busy with the guests. The last thing you need is to be my answering service."

"It's no problem." Grace smiled. "I hated the way he treated you. I've enjoyed watching him squirm."

Tracy set another tray of Johnnycakes on the table. "Meanwhile, Artie said he wasn't leaving until he talked to you."

I checked my watch. "I should wake his dumb behind up and finish the talk so he can check himself out of here today."

"That easy?" Tracy asked.

"He cheated more than once. There's nothing to talk about."

Tracy nodded. "Good. Deal with him with no emotion. Now, you're using your head."

"Oh, please." Grace checked Tracy's other pots as if she was a kitchen supervisor. "I don't care how you deal with Artie as long as he gets his butt out of here today. He's been pushing his sci-fi dvds on all the guests. Every time some of them see him, they rush off in the other direction."

"I'll take care of it. No worries." I finished my con leche and rose to help them.

Hours passed. I helped Tracy cook, served the breakfast platters with Grace, and then told them to rest as I cleaned up the kitchen. The whole time, I couldn't get Sam off my mind. When I finally finished, I sent Artie a text and then went upstairs. I should've been exhausted, but those past days with Sam had given me a rush of energy.

Once I hit my room, an urge came over me to write. It burst out of nowhere. Since coming back to Key West, I was finally starting to feel like my old self, and the person that I had to thank for that was Sam.

He'd inspired me, soared down and tore away my writer's block.

The passion has returned!

Books weren't paint-by-number masterpieces where an author matched a word with a color and then voila—she had a bestseller. The hardest part of writing a book wasn't coming up with the idea or story. It was the commitment to sit my butt in the chair every day, no matter what, and produce more pages. It was the actual act of putting what I dreamed about on paper, and then following it through without fear of who may like it or not.

That feeling had come back to me. The sensation of dedication. The drive. The burning need to write, write, write, until my fingers cramped and my stomach growled and my eyelids struggled with staying open.

These past days with Sam had changed me. I found love inside of me that I didn't know I had. My compassion strengthened. My heart grew bigger, hoping to fit him inside of it.

Sam was this massive man made of muscle and heartbreak. A storm rose inside of him, chaotic and spinning enough power to trigger a hurricane, and he believed he could stand against his storm all by himself.

He's wrong. I'll always be there to hold the umbrella.

And although I'd only been focused on his healing, somehow he'd fixed the broken parts of me. I felt reshaped. Renewed. Sewn and glued back together. And his hot kisses started it. That lovely cock continued it. The love bridging between us finished the job.

He'd healed me.

Sam gave me the energy to start again. After making love to him for days, a pulse-pounding sensation took over me. A book hit my head filled with strong, powerful scenes. Wildly creative characters sprouted in my mind and then walked within my skull touching everything and defying rules. Not only was I good for him, he was beginning to be good for me.

Sparks of something hit me. It scared me as visuals started to form in my head. I cracked my fingers and dove into the story. I decided the hero was a human gangster in a world where supernaturals existed, and dealt in the black market. He'd grown up rough with no parents to take care of him. Due to that, he'd never experienced love or knew true acts of kindness.

And so the scene started at night, in front of a huge fish tank that had been dragged to the back of his nightclub. The first page opened with my hero punching a burly character in the jaw. Burly owed him money, and so he'd found a mermaid in the murky waters of their city, slung her in a huge fish tank, and figured he could use her to clear his debt.

But, my hero wasn't having that.

A knock came at the door, yanking me out of the story.

Grace peeked her head inside. "Merce?"

"Yeah."

She stepped in and looked at my hands on the computer. "Oh. You're writing?"

"Yep."

Her face brightened. "Thank you, Jesus."

"I'm back."

"Good." She looked outside for a few seconds and frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Artie is downstairs with flowers. I hate that I'm disturbing your writing for this jackass."

"Thanks. I guess this is a good time to take care of that." I grabbed my mouse and saved everything on my laptop.

Minutes later, I rushed down the stairs and went to Dolphin View's siting room.

"Mercedes." Artie rose when I entered. A bouquet of flowers lay in one hand. He gripped a manila envelope in the other. "Where have you been?"

"I think the question for today is what do you want," I said. "You want to explain your innocence? I don't have the time. You want the books? They're upstairs. Take them and leave."

"I want you."

"We're over."

"Give me another chance." He brought the flowers over to me. "I was trying to tell you this nights ago, before that ogre showed up and took you away."

A family walked in. The father carried his daughter on his shoulders while the mother held two boys' hands. I gestured for Artie to follow me outside. There was no way I would have his drama causing Dolphin View to get negative reviews.

He had to leave. I'd given him five years of my life. He'd had a chance and squandered it with lies and cheating, complaints, and a complete lack of gratitude for the woman he claimed to love.

I took his flowers and gave them to the mother.

"Oh, wow." She grinned. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I left the sitting room.

He followed me outside. "You could've kept the flowers."

"You could've kept your behind in LA."

"Just hear me out."

"Fine, but make it quick." I scanned the grounds, searching for a private place to curse him out.

A nice crowd lounged on the beach. Most were my sister's guests. I figured the gazebo would be a good place to talk. Guests usually hung out there and used the grills surrounding the space, but no one was out there today.

I glanced toward Sam's house. We would be in the view of his studio, if he happened to look outside. I hoped he didn't go to the window until I took care of Artie and sent him on his way.

When we arrived at the gazebo, I turned to Artie and crossed my arms over my chest. "Go ahead."

"So, this situation."

"You mean the situation of you getting a blow job in our bedroom," I corrected.

"Look. I didn't even know that girl. She had keys to our house and—"

"Stop right there." I held my hand up in front of me. "If you think I'm going to believe that—"

"I have proof." He waved the manila envelope in front of me. "I had an investigator check her out."

"An investigator?" I leaned my head to the side. "What do you mean you have proof?"

"It's all going to sound unbelievable, but I'm not making this up." Artie pulled the photos out. "I was set up. This girl is a top paid prostitute from New York."

The pictures showed the woman I'd caught him in bed with, same long blonde hair and blue eyes. Of course, she was wearing more clothes in the photos.

When I'd walked in, she'd been sucking Artie's cock into her mouth as he squeezed a huge breast with his left hand and pinched her nipple with his right. If he thought a photo of her being a prostitute was going to change things, he was dead wrong. In fact, I was five seconds away from sticking those photos up his ass.

"Okay." I shrugged. "She's a hooker. So what?"

"My investigator found her and she told him...wait." He stuffed his hand into the envelope and pulled out a typed statement with her signature at the bottom. "Okay. It's right here. She explained everything." He pulled out another photo. "This guy paid her $5,000 to come to our place and have sex with me. He even paid for her flight to LA and covered the hotel that she stayed at."

I didn't even take the sheet from him. "Why would someone pay her?"

"I didn't figure that out until I got here. Look at this. It's this guy." He showed me the picture.

Steve's face greeted my eyes. Shock hit me, but I pretended to be disinterested. "This guy paid a hooker to come have sex with you?"

"Yes." Artie frantically bobbed his head. "Yes and yes."

I studied the photo of Steve again. "Why?"

"I don't know."

Artie thought a photo would prove his innocence? I had my own images that proved his guilt. The image of Artie moaning as she sucked him off hit me. While Steve's involvement ranked high in insane oddities, it still couldn't wash my head of the blow job image.

"Okay. He paid for the hooker, and you let her take care of you." I directed my attention back to him. "So what?"

Artie tapped the picture. "This is the guy who paid her. She flew out that night and was sucking me off the next morning."

Why would Steve pay a hooker to have sex with my fiancé?

Artie continued, giving me no time to process it all. "So I had no idea why this guy would do this. Weeks later, my investigator searches for him and follows the guy out here, right next to your sister's place. I had to come out here and make sure you were okay as well as explain my innocence to you."

Innocence? Is he smoking something?

"No. I don't think so." I wagged my finger at him. "First of all, I'm fine. His name is Steve and I've known him since I was a kid. Second of all, this doesn't prove your innocence."

I'm just confused as fuck. Did Sam know about this? Even worse, did he have something to do with it?

"You've known him since you were a kid?" Artie's face twisted in confusion. "This is crazy. Do you see why you have to come back with me so we can figure this out?" He grabbed my hand. "People are up against us, baby. Do you see it? And it's all because they know we're beautiful together."

I did my best to not vomit in my mouth.

Artie shook the picture. "I don't know this guy, but he's an enemy to me. He's an enemy to us. He's a sore—"

"Stop." I yanked my hand away. "Regardless of her being paid or not, when I walked in, you were close to coming. You were having a blast. It sounds like you owe Steve a high five."

"I-I'm a man. She woke me up."

"Really? She woke you up? You didn't let her in?"

"S-somehow she got into our apartment."

I frowned. "You didn't let her in?"

"What?" His right eye winked uncontrollably—a major tell for when he was lying. "No. Of course not. Why would I let her in? No way. This guy must've figured out a way to get the key to our place. I don't know. She...she just got inside."

"You're full of shit." I walked off.

"Okay. Okay." He grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "Sure. I let her in. She was half-naked and—"

"You're disgusting." I yanked my arm away from him. "We were engaged and you let a half-naked woman into our house like you've never seen a vagina. You let her into our bedroom and you decided to get a quick blow job before I came home. That's the truth and no matter how many photos or signed statements you have, there is no evidence on this planet to prove that you're not a deceitful asshole."

"It was too much temptation. She...she tempted me." He slung the envelopes and pictures on the table next to him and put his hands together as if in prayer. "Please, listen to me baby. You're not listening. How are we going to move forward, if you don't give me a chance?"

"I heard you."

"Not really. You ask any man on this planet if they would do the same thing and they would say yes. I can grab any guy out here and if I stopped him and said, 'Excuse me sir, what would you do, if a half-naked woman knocked on your door and asked to fuck you?' Every guy out here is going to say yes to fucking her."

Sam's voice came from behind me. "I would say no."

I turned. Sam stepped into the gazebo. I had no idea he'd even walked out of his house and headed our way. I'd been too busy shoveling Artie's bullshit.

"Hold up." Artie rushed to my side. "Who are you and why are you and your brother trying to ruin my life?"

I jumped between them. "Calm down, Artie. Don't make a scene."

Artie pointed at Sam. "He was the one who attacked me in the nightclub, right? I know your name. I know your brother's name. Keep your brother away from us."

Sam walked around me. "What are you talking about?"

"He paid for a hooker to have sex with me." Artie picked up the photo of Steve from the table and waved it in front of him. "I see your game, motherfucker."

"What?" Sam snatched the picture of Steve and studied it. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm going to take your brother to court and make his life a living hell."

"You don't want to deal with Steve in court." Sam handed the picture back. "They call him The Shredder."

"Fuck him and fuck you. The both of you are going to jail." Artie showed him the photo of the hooker. "I know everything."

Sam stared at it. Anger flashed across his face. "Steve paid Brittany to sleep with you?"

"Yes. That was her name." Artie nodded his head like a crazy man and then looked at me. "You see? I'm not lying."

"Fucking Steve," Sam muttered under his breath.

"I'm taking you to court." Artie yanked the photo back. "And Mercedes, you're coming back to LA with me."

Artie tried to grab my hand.

"I'm not going anywhere." I backed away. "Paid hooker or not, you still opened the door and let her in. You still took her to our bedroom, pulled your pants down, and put your dick into her mouth. When I walked in, you were having the time of your life."

Artie touched his heart. "I'm only a man. There's only so much temptation I can run from."

"That was the third time you cheated. I'm not going back with you so there can be a fourth or fifth time. I'm done. We're done. Go home."

"This isn't my fault. Not this time." Artie tried to grab my arm.

Sam stepped between us and remained silent.

"Please leave, Artie." I crossed my arms over my chest. "I don't want to be with you anymore."

The idiot shook his head. "But, they set me up."

"I didn't." Sam picked up the manila envelope and handed it to Artie. "My brother did it for some reason, and I promise you that I'll find out why. But she's right. You should leave."

Rage dotted Artie's face. "Who are you?"

"I thought you knew my name."

"That's it."

"Then, does it matter?" Sam asked. "Don't you really want to know who I am to Merce?"

"No. You know why?" Artie formed his hands into fists. "Sure, you probably kissed her and you think she's yours. No. She's hurt. It's not you she's thinking about when she kisses your lips. It's me."

I laughed. "Okay. Let's stop this. Artie, I heard you out. We're done. Please, go back to LA."

Sam smiled and remained silent, and then everyone else decided to join the party.

Tracy walked up. "Alright. Alright. I don't know what's going on, but the party's over."

Grace strolled over with him. She kept her hand in her purse. I was sure a gun lay inside and her hand was on it.

Really, sis? A gun? You just want the chance to finally shoot Artie.

"Are you okay, Merce?" Grace asked.

"Yes."

"What's going on?" Tracy looked at Sam and then Artie.

I decided to speak for everyone. "It's a long story, but Artie will be checking out today."

"Please, Merce," Artie begged. "Just give me another chance."

"I'm sorry, but I'm all out of chances for you." I grabbed Sam's hand. Thank God, he simply walked off with me and didn't try to knock Artie out. Tracy and Grace left too, although I did catch my sister telling Artie the official time for check out. I didn't know if Artie remained in the gazebo or not. I was finally done with him and hoped to never see his face again.

What the hell? Steve set Artie up to cheat? Why?

Instead of heading to Dolphin View, we strolled back to Sam's house in silence.

What's going through his head?

A large group passed us carrying scuba gear and heading to a boat off in the distance. Divers loved to come down and experience the stunning underwater world of the Keys. The blue waters surrounding the Southernmost City offered world-class diving. The government had intentionally sunk a few old naval ships seven miles off Key West to create an artificial reef. The ships provided shelter for large marine life and money from all the diving tourists.

Sam disturbed my thoughts. "You're okay?"

"Yes, but you didn't know about what Steve did?"

"No, I had no idea. I knew he kept in touch with your sister. That was it. When we talked about going to Key West, he mentioned that you were engaged to a movie producer. A week later, we flew off to Key West."

"Grace and Steve." I shook my head. "I'm sure Grace told him about all the problems I was having with Artie."

I didn't add that Grace thought Steve liked me and maybe she was trying to set us up.

Sam looked at me. "When did you catch your ex with Brittany?"

"It's been about a month ago, but basically a few days before I saw you down here."

"So, it sounds like it was around the time Steve knew him and I would be coming here. He'd said he had some things to take care of before we flew down. Did Grace know you were coming back?"

"Yeah. I called her the day I caught Artie cheating and jumped on a place that night."

"So, there's a good chance Steve knew his plan had worked and you would be here when we arrived."

Steve was trying to play cupid.

Sam stopped us in front of his door. "I'm sorry. He shouldn't have done that. Because of him, you were heartbroken."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. All Steve did was dangle cheese in front of a rat. Is it Steve's fault that the rat ate the cheese? I don't think so. If not her, it would've been someone else. I should give Steve a thank you card."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "For now, don't bring this up to Steve. Let me handle it, please.

"I will, but why?"

"I want to see how far his plotting has gone. He knew I was messed up after the trial. He probably figured you would've been the only person to get my head together."

"Do you agree?"

"You know I do." He opened the door. "It's just...what else has Steve been doing?"

"I'm sure that was it."

"I doubt it." Sam led us up the stairs. "I have to check something. Steve and one of his females were arguing a couple nights ago. She mentioned something about letters. I have to check on something."

"What?"

"The letters."

"What letters?"

"The letters that Rachel wrote me from jail."

"Your ex-wife?" Panic filled my chest. "Are you sure it's a good idea to read any of her letters?"

"No, but Steve is being extra devious. Something is going on. There's two things that he's been pushing with me since we've been here—you and these damn letters. I don't know why, but I have this feeling and I won't ignore it like I did long ago."

Those last words triggered panic in my chest.


	11. Chapter 11

**Only one more chapter to go. Standard Disclaimer. Thanks for still reading this and showing your love.**

**Chapter 11**

_Sam_

Merce remained silent. I brought the box of letters into my bedroom and set them on the floor. I almost placed them on my bed, but I couldn't. I'd made love to Merce on that bed this week. It held the most beautiful memories I'd had in my life.

She'd transformed me and even changed the effect of the bed and everything else in my room. I could've sworn the mattress had become more comfortable and my room had brightened, even though the windows were half open, the curtain swinging with the breeze as usual.

I sat behind the box. Merce sat down on the other side of it.

There, Rachel's letters from jail remained between us.

"Did he hurt you?" I asked.

"Artie? No. I'm fine, Sam."

"If he comes to you again, call me."

"Thank you, but I can take care of myself."

"This guy's not done bothering you."

"No, he's got the message."

"I hope you're right. But if I was him, I would be at your door the next day and the next until you told me yes."

"Thank God he's not you." She gestured to the box. "Why are you going to read them?"

"Because something's wrong."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"Then, how do you know something's wrong?"

"Because everything is so right."

How could I explain to her that I now had a new fear running through my heart? I'd been comfortable with my regular doom, but now she'd introduced a new terror. Now I feared losing her and was terrified that our happiness would fade away. I had to protect us.

Or am I just being anxious and paranoid?

"Steve clearly wanted you in Key West while I was here, but why? Am I missing something else or just being suspicious?" I pulled two envelopes out of the box. "Does he want me to feel better...or is he trying to keep me distracted from a scary truth?"

"Distracted?" Worry spread across her face. "What scary truth?"

"The whole reason we came to Key West was so I could take a break from searching for Rachel's accomplice. Even though I'd agreed to come here, I brought files with me on the murders. Once Steve spotted me spending time with you, Emma told me he had those files delivered back to New York."

"So, wait a minute? You think your ex had an accomplice?"

"Yes. Those bodies would've been too heavy to move by herself."

"She could've moved them if she had a wheelbarrow. Women have killed on their own and have gotten rid of bodies all by ourselves. We're not as weak as you think."

"I'm sure she had someone helping her."

"How do you know?"

"Because I have this feeling that I'm right."

She frowned. "And what if the feeling is wrong?"

"Then, I'm paranoid and crazier than I thought."

"Which would be normal for what you've been through."

I let out a long breath and tore open one of the envelopes, not caring to preserve anything Rachel had touched.

Merce watched me with concern. "When did she write these?"

"A few weeks ago, but I'm not sure when." I opened the letter. "Okay. This letter has a date that's after she was convicted."

In the room, darkness hovered above us. Outside, thunder rumbled. There would be a storm coming. The curtains waved up and down with more movement.

My hands shook.

"Do you want me to read it?" Merce asked.

"No. I don't want her words leaving your mouth. I don't even want you to touch the same pages as her. I want this away from you as much as possible."

She folded her legs and whispered, "Okay."

I cleared my throat and read, "Dear Samson."

"Samson?"

I felt sick that Rachel had used that old nickname. "Doesn't matter."

Merce nodded.

I read some more. "I'm writing to tell you that I'm sorry for everything..."

I paused and shook my head.

"What's wrong?" Merce asked.

"Her Os have always been smiley faces and she would never say sorry. She hasn't said sorry this whole time. Why now?"

"Maybe because she's going to die in jail and now has had all his time to self-reflect."

"No." I scanned the letter and barely read it. My focus was on all the letter Os that had no face smiling back at me. "You've already seen the one she drew on me. But then, on half of the evidence presented in court there were smiley faced Os—in her diaries, on receipts to buy tools to bury the bodies, and even on her confession. During the trial, she doodled Os with smiley faces. The news caught it a few times."

"Okay, but—"

"There are no smiley faced Os on any of these letters."

"So, you don't think she wrote these?"

"I don't."

What's going on? Why would the warden send fake letters?

Obsessed, I turned my laptop on to find the email from the facility. Steve had forwarded the email to me. In it, the warden had explained why he was sending the letters. Unfortunately, the facility's phone number wasn't there. Further research gave me the telephone number to his office.

The whole time I did this, Merce watched with worry in her gaze.

She probably thinks I'm crazy. Maybe I am.

I grabbed my phone, called the warden, and a woman took my message, explaining that the warden would return my call later today. Dissatisfied, I hung up.

"Sam, I don't think any of this has to do with what Steve did to Artie."

"And what if it does?" I asked.

"Then, we'll figure that out."

"That's not good enough for me. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Merce gave me a weak smile. "Nothing is going to happen to me. I think you're just going down the wrong path right now."

Maybe I was. Earlier, when I looked out the window and spotted Artie grabbing Merce's arm, my whole body went into possessive mode. Rage exploded inside of my chest. Bloody murder spun around in my head. I rushed out and was ready to fucking kill him. The whole time, I'd said to myself over and over that I shouldn't have let her leave my bedroom.

Perhaps the anxiety over Artie and her had shifted me into paranoia. I didn't know if it was true. I just needed answers.

I opened the other letters. There were ten of them, but none had the smiley faced Os. However, all of them talked about Rachel's guilt and sadness over the deaths and how none of it was my fault. Lies. Those letters were lies.

Once Rachel was discovered as the true killer, her mask fell away. She stopped hiding her true self. The monster appeared for the world to see and never hid again. Rachel had no remorse or guilt. In court, she smiled as witnesses presented evidence. Every time a camera flashed her way, she waved like she'd been crowned Miss America.

She didn't write these. So, what's happening? Who's trying to play games with my head?

Merce and I dumped the fake letters back into the box.

"She could've wrote these." Merce shrugged.

"She didn't." My phone rang. I answered. "Hello."

"This is Warden Bieste. I'm trying to get in touch with a Mr. Samuel Evans."

"That's me."

"You're quite the star here," the warden said. "How can I help you?"

"You sent a box of letters that were supposed to be written by Rachel—"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Evans, but I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?" I asked.

"That inmate has not written any letters to anyone. However, she does have a lady reporter that visits her twice a week. Apparently, she's writing a book."

"A book?"

"Yes. It's going to be called The Preying Mantis. I've read parts of it because we have to make sure the reporter is not passing anything each time she visits. And...we're all wondering what else she would say, but...she hasn't written any letters."

I didn't think she did. So, Steve has done it again. How busy have you been, brother?

"Can I help you with anything else?" the warden asked.

"You've read passages from the book?".

"Yes."

"Any mention of an accomplice?"

"No, she's just bragging about all the things she's done. Most of the information is stuff we already knew."

"But she hasn't sent any letters?"

"No, sir, and even if she has, your lawyer sent your signed request that all letters addressed to you be destroyed."

Really? Steve, you've been a busy, busy man.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the warden asked.

"No, I have all I need. Thanks again."

"Anytime."

I hung up the phone and looked at Merce. "Steve wrote the letters or had someone else do it."

"Why?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." I picked up some of the pages. A few lines caught me and I read them aloud. "You must remember. I did not have an accomplice. Live your life. Forget about me. Forget about everything."

I threw the letters back in the box, and then it hit me. His day girl, Kitty, had come into my studio that one time asking for a pen.

"Do you need something from me?" I'd asked her.

"Yeah," she'd said. "I need a pen. Steve wants me to write these stupid letters. I don't get it."

Merce's face shifted to worried. "So...Steve is trying to get you away from the murders. He wants you to have closure."

"Or he wants me to forget there was an accomplice."

"Which would be him trying to give you closure."

"Or keep me distracted." I rose from the floor and paced. "The whole time we've been back, he's been tyring to get you and I together. And he won. Since the first time I saw you, I've thought of nothing else but you."

Merce watched me from the floor.

"But, how did he get you here? He sends, Brittany, over to ruin your relationship. You're here and he's thinking we'll be together and everything will be fine. Later, when he realized we'd stopped talking, he bought Grace and you tickets to that concert. Additionally, he gives me these fake letters from Rachel. Maybe it was insurance for me to leave the murders alone. Or maybe it was something else." I shook my head. "Rachel didn't write those. He had one of the chicks he met write them."

"What did the warden say?"

"That she never mailed letters and that the reporter doing her story made no mention of an accomplice."

"So, maybe there isn't one."

"Or maybe there is." I thought back to my life. "I met Rachel through Steve."

Merce looked confused. "Okay?"

"They were in a True Crime club together. I always thought Steve loved the club for the legal side. He was always into criminal law. He wanted to practice it after he graduated law school, but then Dad passed and he took over control of the family business instead, concentrating on corporate law."

Merce twisted her face in confusion. "Why are you saying this? I don't get where you're going?"

"I never understood why Rachel was in the True Crime club. Later, I realized that she enjoyed talking about the different murders. But for Steve, maybe I was wrong too. Maybe...he is the accomplice."

Pain filled my heart.

She leaned forward as if needing to get a better view of me. "You think Steve is the accomplice to your ex's murders?"

I let out a long breath. "I...I don't know. Maybe?"

"I'm sorry." And then Merce laughed. "We're talking about your brother."

"Maybe I don't know my brother that well anymore."

Merce rose. "No, this is getting weird. I think you let your head go down the rabbit hole without a round trip ticket to come back. This is crazy. Steve? No way."

"I thought I knew Rachel, but I didn't."

"This is your brother. You've known him all your life. Steve is not a killer. He's not the accomplice."

My heart ached. "I've been wrong before."

"You were wrong about a woman who spent her whole life hiding who she really was. That's not your fault."

"There were signs that I ignored."

"Like what?"

"We never argued. She never complained. I didn't push it. I thought I was lucky. Plus, if I am being truthful with myself, I wasn't really paying attention. We were in college, my main focus was the books. After graduation, it was all about my company."

"None of this is your fault and none of this should make you question the actions of your brother or anyone else that you truly know and love. Is Steve weird? Yes. Has he gone a bit far with helping you get closure? Hell yes. Is he a womanizer? Of course. But, killer? Hell no. Stop it."

"After what I've been through, I'm constantly questioning everything."

She stepped in front of me and placed her hands on the side of my face. "That's probably what that sick bitch wanted, but don't do that to yourself anymore. The trial is over. The killing is over. She's in jail and now you're trying to lock yourself into a mental prison. Has anyone else died around you?"

"No."

"Then, it's all over. Let it go, baby. Let it all go."

Sighing, I pulled her to me. "And if it's not over? If there is an accomplice, if that person starts to kill people again, then what? What if the person comes for me or something happens to you?"

"Nothing will happen to us, and if it does, then we'll deal with it. But for now, just stay in the moment. You're not God. You can't control everything in this world. Forget about this and don't ever, ever say that Steve is an accomplice. Forget about this."

"I buried too many people to simply forget."

"Our mind creates our reality. If you think the world is full of killers, it will be. You'll walk the streets, suspecting everyone—the mailman, your friends and family. You have to keep your head clear."

A clear mind was something I'd hoped for, but never figured I would get again.

"Look," she said. "If you don't control your head, then you'll screw yourself. When you think about the past, you'll be full of regrets. That just fuels depression. When you think about the future, you're adding anxiety to the mix. You don't know what's going to happen. Stop thinking about all of this. Stop creating elaborate murder-mystery-plotline-twists in your head."

I closed my eyes and whispered, "You're right. What the hell was I just thinking?"

"Our mind creates our reality. I'm a writer. Trust me. Thinking like that will make you crazy. That's why most authors are loony. There are moments when I have to step away from my books or problems, lay on my bed, and just breathe in and out while thinking of something positive."

I opened my eyes. "So...then, what should I be thinking about?"

Merce backed away and pulled off her shirt. "You should be thinking about me."

Her gaze remained locked onto mine. Those brown eyes were clear and full of love. My gut wrenched at the sight of her. I'd just dragged her through one of my dark episodes of paranoia and still she stood right in front of me.

Others would've fled.

This isn't fair to her. She'd just had to deal with that asshole and now she's fixing me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"I'm not. We're in this together. And by the way, I won't be perfect. There'll be a time when you'll have to help me get control of my head too. So, we either accept each other for who we are or stop this right now."

She tilted her head to the side and smirked. "Do you want to stop?"

The air between us crackled with energy as we stared each other down. All I could think about was how I could fall into her eyes and remain happily lost forever.

"No," I whispered.

I don't think I could ever stop with you.

* * *

_Mercedes_

While I'd seen the damage that bitch had done to Sam on his body, I hadn't realized all the things she done to his mind. I hope that bitch dies in jail. I hope someone sets her ass on fire.

"I don't want to stop either." I slid my hands underneath Sam's shirt, my fingers bumping along his defined abs and the scars. His smooth skin might've been decorated in marks, but it felt better than high-end silk.

I'll never let that bitch hurt him again. Although Sam had grown up into this muscular guy—twice as big as me and all full of power and strength—he needed me to protect him from himself. He'd healed me when I was a kid and even with my recent battle with writer's block. Now it was my turn to heal him.

"Remember." I wrapped my arms around his waist. "I'll always be there for you."

"I can't ask that of you." Sam buried his fingers in my hair.

"You can." I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

Sam broke from our kiss. "No, I don't want my muck touching you."

I backed away from him. "It's not your choice."

"It is." He tugged me toward him, brought his lips to my neck, and kissed me slowly, working his way along my collarbone.

"It is not." I moved away from his mouth and met his stubborn gaze dead on. Those blue eyes looked more beautiful than the sky on a Caribbean day and I didn't ever want to look away. "You healed me."

"How did I heal you?"

"I'm writing again. I started a new book. It has a mermaid in it. I always wanted to write about a mermaid."

"And is the hero a pirate?"

"No, I wanted a twist. He's a street hustling gangster that kicks ass."

"I wouldn't have guessed that."

"Good. Anyway, I'm writing again. You healed me. Now, I'm going to heal you."

"You can't save me, baby. Many have tried and ran away crying."

"None were me." I giggled as I guided him to his studio. "Let's do some painting. Art is cathartic."

He followed. "I don't want to paint right now. I want to screw."

"Maybe, we can do both." I pointed at one of three massive canvasses. It was so huge, it covered most of the wall it leaned on. "Can we paint on that?"

"That's a big one. It would take us days to cover it."

"Not if we use our naked bodies. Do you have any paint that we can put on our body?"

A wicked smile spread across his face. "I love the way you heal."

He rushed away like a mad man, locking the studio's door and taking off his clothes with each step. He almost tripped over his own feet. Still, that didn't deter him. He went into a metal closet, yanking out huge jars of color.

"We're lucky." He stacked jars of red and white on the floor. "Mom bought boxes and boxes of finger paints for the neighboring schools last winter."

I twisted off the tops as he brought more cans over—black, violet, blue, and pink. "She made sure a bunch of the boxes were delivered to my studio. At the time, I couldn't think of what I would do with all this finger paint."

"And now?" I winked.

He pierced me with a hungry gaze. "Take off your clothes."

"So bossy."

It took me no time. The more I hung around Sam, the less I enjoyed wearing clothes. While I undressed, he dragged the large canvas to the center of the room and laid it on the floor. It represented the funniest sight I'd witnessed in years. The whole time, his cock jutted out in front of him as he knelt to each corner of the canvas and snatched away the wooden frame.

I really should take a picture of this.

I stifled a chuckle.

"You're enjoying this?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

When he finished, the canvas's white cloth lay flat on the floor.

My clothes dropped to the floor and fell around my feet. Cool wind nipped at my skin. Lust blazed in my heart. Already, I was wet and hungry for him.

For a silent minute, we stood in front of each other and just studied the other.

How did I get so lucky?

With heat in his voice, he whispered, "Lay down, baby, and take those beautiful locs down. I want them falling all around your naked body."

I did as I was told. While I was supposed to be the one taking care of him, I knew that he always had to be in control.

"Damn, you're beautiful laying on the canvas." He walked around me with that hard cock, stroking the tip and licking his lips. "I almost don't want to add anything. You're already enough. You're already a masterpiece."

Hunger burned between my wet thighs. "Join me."

He dragged over several more jars of paint and then scattered different paint brushes around me. "I'm going to paint your body."

I took a brush from him. "And I'm going to paint you."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. We have everything we need to create an abstract painting on love and lust."

"Love?"

"Yes." I swallowed down my fear. "Love."

He ran his fingers through my hair. "I do love you, but it might not be—"

"No, just stop at love and don't try to explain it. In the end, love is all we need. Not definitions or labels. Just this." I touched his chest. "Just our hearts."

And then I trailed my fingers down to his cock. "And this most of all."

Groaning, he picked up a paint brush, dipped it in red, and decorated both of my nipples with hearts. The cool liquid dripped down my flesh, sparking desire all through me. A deep throbbing surged within my core. Those lusty points went hard and I stopped caring about the art and more about him pumping inside of me.

"Lay down," I whispered. "On your back."

Surprisingly, he complied, still holding the wet brush of red paint in his hand.

"My turn." I straddled Sam, this succulent man that could do no wrong in my mind. I rested my wet sex right on his thick cock, grabbed my own brush, dipped it in sky blue, and drew little flowers all over his scars.

"Fuck," he moaned, growing even harder under me. "I don't think I can ever go back to painting normally."

I moved my leg to feel him better and bumped the jar of red paint with my knee. It tumbled over and spilled red all over the canvas and parts of us.

"Damn it. I've already made a mess of our work." I giggled as the paintbrush dropped from my hand.

"No, that's perfect." He reached his hand up and knocked over the jars of purple and blue pain until there were nothing but puddles of color pooling around our naked bodies.

"Well, this is definitely going to be abstract." I tried to pick up another paintbrush. "What should we do now?"

He took the new brush out of my hand and knocked over a jars of black and white paint. "Let's use our bodies to finish the painting."

Just from his words, pleasure echoed through my body. Everything else fled my head. No longer was I worried about Artie, Sam's haunted past, or even Grace and Tracy's worries. The rest of this crazy world fell apart and crumbled around us, drowning into colorful pools of crimson reds and blushing pinks, somber sky blues and earthy greens.

Rising to kiss me, he gripped my ass and moaned into my mouth. "How did I live without you?"

I hummed in pleasure.

"How did I breath without you near me?" He slid his hand behind the nape of my neck in an electrifying grip that told me he would never let go.

"Baby," he whispered. "You're wild and beautiful."

"Only for you."

"Only for me."

He toyed with my nipples, delivering desire to my core. I gasped, and he went after the soft sound as if trying to taste it.

"You're so hard," I moaned.

"Only for you."

"Only for me."

His other hand went to my back, pulling me against his hard body, caging me to him. Already, he was inside of me without pushing his cock between my flesh. I shuddered against him. He was all around me—his lips on my skin, his scent mingling with the smell of paint. It was intoxicating. I drowned in him, barely able to catch my breath as he bent his head and kissed me again, searing his lips to mine.

Paint slipped along my skin, dripping all over us, but I didn't care about any of it. Our tongues twisted around the other like a category five hurricane. It was like we were trying to devour the other, tear each other apart, just to lick what was inside.

I ran my fingers through his hair now dotted with drops of red and blue. "Stop teasing. Screw me."

"No. I want you soaking wet. I want you dripping all over this canvas. I want to be able to smell you after I've hung the painting up in my room."

"You're teasing me." I arched against him.

"You should be teased, tasted, and screwed until you can't remember your name."

Aching seconds went by. Hot, scorching desire pooled low in my stomach, the tips of my breasts, and between my thighs. He blessed me with those lips…harder, hotter, deeper and longer kisses, slowly addicting, making me beg and writhe within his arms. I couldn't breathe or think. All I could do was explode with more hunger. All I could do was fall into him.

"Please," I begged.

"Maybe." He lifted me up, twisted us around, and lay me on my back, smearing more paint onto the canvas and me.

"Oh, baby," I moaned.

"I'm not sure that I'm done painting." He grabbed a paintbrush and stroked my clit with the silky end. A low moan rose from my lips.

"Sam."

He dropped the brush and teased the throbbing flesh with his fingertips.

I grabbed his cock, needing it in my hands, in my mouth, inside my body, pumping and pushing until I lost control. "Please."

"You're ripping me apart."

And that was when he gave up with his teasing and lowered onto me, letting that stiff cock brush against my thighs as I spread them open.

"I didn't know," he whispered as his cock caressed my wet folds, but didn't enter. "I didn't know."

"You didn't know what, baby?"

He pressed the swollen head at the entrance. My body shivered in anticipation.

"I didn't know how good this could feel, Merce."

Before I could ask anymore, he thrust into me, taking away any rational thought. All my focus went to that thick sensation slipping in and out of me, causing shrieks of pleasure to rush up my throat.

We moaned together. Paint splashed and rippled around us. Hot sex filled the air. Our breaths flowed in and out, hard and fast, and the whole time he was pumping into me, deeper and deeper, stretching my wet flesh around him. Hard and long. Shock waves thundered through me, triggering pleasure to burst in every cell.

We bucked like wild savages, barbarians, hungry and horny. Lost to humanity. My breasts bounced against his hard chest. Sensations flooded my very core. My heart hammered, our lips barely keeping out our moans, pumping shifting to pounding.

It was insane ecstasy. Maddening pleasure. Only God knew how long it took, until our bodies collided, cock to g-spot, heart to heart.

But in that final moment, when our bodies erupted, I broke apart, screaming his name. And he filled me, spurting cum into my sex as we both rode the wave of heart-pounding pleasure.

We collapsed onto the canvas, out of breath and exhausted. I was sure the whole house had heard. Steve was probably congratulating himself for all that he'd done.

Minutes passed. Maybe even hours. I had no idea. Time lost all meaning. We lay there in a soothing calm.

The paint dried on our skin, the canvas. I couldn't wait to see what it would look like. Surely, the movement of intertwined bodies brought beauty to the canvas. Surely, it would be one-of-a-kind. Surely, I would never forget this moment, this tangible reminder of the most amazing romantic experience of my life.

Wet and covered head-to-toe in any color of paint one could imagine, I fell asleep in his arms with one thought running through my mind over and over.

Even our silence is beautiful.

Later, we woke, showered, and cleaned up.

He left the canvas on the floor to dry and I was totally blown away as I studied it. All over the canvas was an explosion of light color and dark dancing around each other. And right in the center of the painting—where we'd made love—there was almost a huge heart shape of our bodies together.

Sam gazed at our work. "This is the best painting in here. We have to do this again."

"Definitely. I'm just wondering where I'm going to put it."

He laughed. "You're not taking this. It's mine."

"No, it's not."

"It is."

"We'll see about that. Lucky for you, I don't have a place at the moment. When I get my new place, this will be delivered to my spot."

A weird expression crossed his face before he fixed it. "What? Are you planning on leaving?"

"No, not now, but eventually I'll be going somewhere."

"Of course."

An uncomfortable quiet fell upon us.

"So, I read this new book," I said, changing the subject. "It's called Taking Control of Your Destiny."

"Oh God." He walked to the other side of the studio.

Chuckling, I rushed after him. "The book talks about how pain, heartbreak, and trauma can block us from getting our happiness."

He nodded, but I could tell he didn't want to talk about it.

"It says that a good way to deal with trauma is to recreate it through art." I looked up at him. "So basically, you should paint what happened to you."

He paused, faced me, and didn't say anything.

I went on a little more. "You wouldn't have to show anybody. It could just be paintings that you create and then destroy."

Again, he remained quiet.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"I think that no matter what you read to me, I'm going to feel good. I'll feel free."

I smiled. "But what do you think about painting your pain away?"

He leaned his head to the side. "What do you want from this book? What do you want from me?"

"I want it to help you."

"And if it doesn't?"

I shrugged. "Then, it doesn't."

He turned his back to me and placed a few paintbrushes to the side. "I don't want to disappoint you, Merce, but I always know how this goes. We're already going down that path now."

"What path?"

"The path where you think you can fix me. The path where you realize you can't. The path where you race away from it, crying and wishing you'd never tried."

"I don't know what type of punk ass females you surround yourself with." I walked around and faced him. "But I'm not one of them. This is Cherry Coke. You know who I am. You know who you are. We always win together."

"Merce—"

"According to this book, our mistake is that when we're in darkness, we search for some light to help us escape. But what we don't realize is that the light is inside of us. We have to learn how to switch on the light."

We stood there in silence for a few minutes.

And then, he laughed.

I frowned. "That's not funny. That was deep as hell."

"It's funny."

I gently hit his chest. "It was written by a neuroscientist that turned into a spiritual guru."

"Of course it was." He laughed some more, grabbed my arms, and pulled me into a huge embrace. He kissed me and when he let go, he whispered, "I like the book."

"No, you don't."

"I do." He nipped at my bottom lip. "Maybe tonight, you can take off your clothes and read it to me for bedtime."

"You won't be paying attention."

"Trust me. You'll have all my attention. And when you finish a chapter, you can quiz me."

"Really?"

"And..." He kissed me again. "If I get the answers right, you have to do anything I want."

Lust blazed all over me. How did that happen with him? I'd thought he'd drained me of everything during our painting session and now I was ready to go another round. "Anything? Like what?"

"Like letting me shove my cock down that pretty throat and coming over those pretty lips."

I grinned. "That's a lot of right answers. Are you sure you're up for the task?"

"Try me."

"That sounds good, but I have another idea."

He gave me a skeptical look. "What?"

"We should also check out Soul Tribe tomorrow."

He groaned.

"It'll be fun. When I went to the Blood Rain concert with Grace, the owner came along. Her name's Giselle. She's a cool independent sister that's from here."

"Hmmm. Giselle?" He raised his eyebrows. "What's her last name?"

"I can't remember. Why? Ex-girlfriend? I don't remember you having snowbird flings with any of the locals."

"No, that's my brothers. Anyway, it's probably just a coincidence. Sebastian kind of had a thing with a girl named Giselle."

"Sebastian had a thing? I don't remember him doing anything but playing with your sister. He was always with her. I don't remember seeing him being interested in girls. I always thought he was going to be gay."

"Yeah, but you are remembering him as a little boy and not as teenager or a young adult. I am sure, he did have this one situation with a girl named Giselle."

"Spill it."

"She was a high school beauty queen. Steve...uh...was being Steve and paid this Giselle to take Sebastian's virginity. And then Sebastian pretty much followed her around the Keys like a love sick puppy for the rest of the year freaking her out. After she broke his heart, he swore off girls and after college he became the pansexual he coins himself as being today."

"Excuse me? Steve did what?"

He shrugged. "It's Steve."

"A beauty queen named Giselle." I laughed. "It could've been her. She's gorgeous. Cuban and Bahamian. Long, wavy hair and hazel eyes."

"Yeah." He widened his eyes. "That sounds like her. What are the odds?"

"This might be a sign."

"A sign for what?"

"She owns Soul Tribe, and she obviously had to get over the trauma in her life caused by your brothers."

He groaned again.

"Then we are definitely not going. She obviously hates my brothers, and I think I would rather have you read to me in bed baby."


	12. Chapter 12

**I really took a lot out of three chapters and smashed it all together to finish this work. Thanks so much for joining me on this crazy ride. I have been sick and in bed most of this week and I didn't have any energy but to watch movies and read and listen to audiobooks. If you enjoyed this story or want the author's true version, please check it out or her additional titles. **

**Chapter 12**

_Sam_

The next day, I woke up in a cold sweat. I looked around wildly, unsure of where I was, and then relief flooded my heart as Merce lay next to me, warm and sleeping.

Last night, my reoccurring nightmare had haunted me—the cage made of bones, Rachel cackling outside of it, the cold freezing me, the pain from her cutting my skin. The women crying blood as severed testicles dangled behind them.

Shaking, I rose and slipped out of bed, happy that Merce didn't have to console me. It wasn't fair to depend on her so much. I wasn't used to it. Rachel had never been the warm type. I guessed that was another red flag. Or maybe Merce was just one of a kind.

What are we doing?

Before leaving my bedroom, I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was breathtaking curled up under my silk sheets. Her dark hair were sprawled all over her pillow. Part of me wanted to rush over and make love to her. The other part of me was scared I'd break her.

Would this toxicity rub off on her? Would it seep into her pores and poison all the beautiful things about my Cherry Coke?

I went to the window. The sun had barely risen over the ocean, but the birds were out. White herons hovered and hunted over the sand while clear blue waves crashed into each other. It was the same view that I saw everyday since I'd been back on the Keys.

But for some reason, today, it all appeared more breathtaking. More enchanting and new. That should've calmed me, but instead, anxiety coursed through my veins, tightening every muscle. My body drummed with unease and switched on high alert.

As I walked to my brother's room, I kept checking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows.

What's up with me?

I knocked on Steve's door. A woman's voice sounded from the other side. Knowing my brother, there were probably two females in there. Since coming down, he'd decided that one woman at a time wasn't enough. Now, he expected both arms to be full of gorgeous bodies when he stepped out.

If Mom had been here, she would've gone ballistic over his audacity. Still, women swarmed around him, following his rules.

Wake up, Steve.

I knocked again.

Steve asked from the other side, "Who is it?"

"Sam."

"Give me a minute."

It actually took him five minutes and then he opened the door. I peeked in and encountered three women passed out on his bed and another sleeping on the floor.

He yawned, stretching his arms in the air. "What's up?"

"Four chicks?"

"It's a fivesome."

"That has to be a record."

"Not really." He rubbed his eyes. "And that's because I don't even remember it. I'm hoping I can convince them to do it again."

"Slow down."

"I know. I know. I don't want to catch the Key Disease." He cracked his neck on the right and then left. "What's going on? Why are are you up so early?"

"I wanted to tell you to stop."

He raised his eyebrows. "Stop what?"

"All of your behind the back meddling."

He frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you paid Brittany to sleep with Merce's ex."

"Oh. That." He shrugged. "You're welcome."

"No, it's not your welcome. Don't do that shit again."

He grimaced. "Fine."

"I'm serious."

He raised his hands. "Okay."

I couldn't help it and smiled. "But yeah, thank you for doing that."

"Always."

I frowned.

"Well, I won't do it anymore."

"And you have to stop everything else."

"Everything like what? I'm innocent."

"I know that you faked the letters too."

"Fuck. Katie told you?"

"Her name is Kitty and no, she didn't tell me. I figured it out."

"So, what does this mean?"

"Nothing. I know why you did it. You want me to get off the accomplice angle. I promised Merce I would drop it and I'm telling you I'll leave it alone, too."

Steve let out a long breath. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

He grabbed me into a bear hug. "You're welcome."

I pushed him off me. "No, man. Don't do that shit. I'm crazy. That's shit crazy. Together, it would've had me doing even more crazy shit."

"But, it worked out."

"Look. I almost thought you might've been helping Rachel."

"What?"

"I got paranoid. You were messing with my mind." I tapped my head. "I'm me, but I'm not. Do you understand?"

Steve stepped back and leaned against the wall.

"You don't have to be careful all the time, but doing creepy shit around me will put me on a dark path."

"It wasn't that creepy."

"Don't do it again."

He nodded. "I won't. I'm just glad that it all worked it."

"It's working out."

"It worked out. Merce and you are together."

"Merce and I..." I sighed and looked over my shoulder. "I don't know. I'm falling for her."

"Then, what's the problem?"

"I don't like falling anymore. I don't think I'll make it when I hit the ground."

"Then, don't hit the ground."

"I'll try." I rubbed my face with both hands and headed back to my room. "And you stop being a man-whore. Get some rest and make sure you wear condoms."

He laughed behind me. "Yes, Father."

Hours later, Merce woke up to me bringing her breakfast. Emma had called in sick, but I'd heard gun shots behind her and her munching on popcorn. It was some TV show. Knowing that she had a new addiction to binge watching Netflix shows, I didn't push the lie. Who was I to question Emma if she needed a day of rest? She'd raised me and was practically a second mother. However, I laughed, told her to feel better, and whipped up some eggs and toast for Merce and me.

While Mom was big on art, Dad loved being in the kitchen. Even though we never had to cook for ourselves, he made sure all his boys knew their way around pots and pans. Every Sunday, he taught us a new meal. By our teens, Dad expected us to grill or cook on the weekends.

"How do you like it?" I'd asked her.

Munching on the food, she had handed me back her empty plate. Merce damn near had sucked up all the food in one bite, which told me I'd made my father proud.

Merce read from her book, and I pretended to listen and answer questions that she asked after each chapter until one thing she read struck a serious chord in me. It took me back to when I was captured by Rachel and I could have sworn there were several people in the room looking at her as she tortured me. Their faces swam in and out of my mind and I felt as if I was in a trance and it wasn't until I almost hit Merce when she trying to bring me out of my PTSD psychotic break that I came back to my senses.

Hearing her voice screaming "Sam, stop"! Woke me and filled me with an icy coldness seepness into my veins.

I had almost hurt the person who meant the world to me. I couldn't be around her. I couldn't be around anybody. I told her this. I was a danger to all because I was not okay. She put up a fight, but I was adamant and sent her home telling her that I needed my space and I couldn't get better right then with her hovering and checking on me and asking if I was okay.

I was not okay. I would never be okay. I should have never began this with Mercedes. I was not good enough for her. She didn't deserve to be with a lunatic. I was going back home to New York. I wasn't going to let what Rachel did to me taint us both for the rest of our lives. I heard the words Merce spoke in anger as we battled it out. She was giving me the words that I needed to leave and disappear out of her life. She didn't know it, but it was for her own good. I didn't stop her from walking out the door.

* * *

_Mercedes_

"Sam? What's wrong?" I questioned as soon as he blanked out and then start screaming. "Is everything okay?"

When he almost shoved me away from him and my yelling broke the trance he was in, he looked at me as if he had literally lost his mind.

"What happened?"

"I'm done with that shit and I don't want anymore suggestions or advice from any of your self-help books. That shit was crazy. I'm more crazy. No. Never again."

I swallowed. "Okay."

"This." He stopped in front of me and rubbed his face with both hands. "This. We can't do this right now. I need space."

"No, Sam, you don't me this."

"I didn't want to make you cry, Merce. There's no one on this planet that has loved me like you have. I didn't want to hurt you."

"But, you're doing it now."

"You know I'll never love you like you deserve?"

"You don't know that."

"I'll try, but I'll hurt you. That bitch will always be in my head, tainting everything and everyone that I touch. She can haunt me, but she can't hurt you."

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"But it will." He pulled his keys out of his pocket. "Let me take you home."

"Fuck you, Sam. I'll walk home by myself. I don't need you to take me there it is broad daylight."

"Merce, let me just take you—"

"No." I wiped more tears away and shook my head. "If you want space, then have it. I am leaving. I won't be back until you beg me and trust that I am woman enough to stand by your side while you battle your demons. But don't talk to me if you are going to hurt me like you are doing now. Don't call. Don't write. Stay out of my life."

My words hung in the air above us, thick as black smoke.

I shook my head, pissed with him and tired of crying.

"Please, Merce."

"I am leaving."

I waited for several more minutes in cold silence, and then walked away from him.

"I would be your death wish. You should guard your heart when you're around me."

"Oh." I stared at the door I closed angry, confused, and distraught. "I thought everything was going good with us."

The sun poured down warm light and hushed the cool ocean breeze. It took more than a couple of minutes for me to get the energy to walk next door, but I did.

The whole walk, I battled in my head. At first, I suffered through the pain of Sam rejecting me. Then, I blamed myself for yelling at him. Guilt filled me. Sam must've had some form of PTSD. He'd been through a lot. I could've been more understanding and patient.

Maybe I shouldn't have cursed at him.

Later in the walk, I told myself that those thoughts were bullshit. That he'd hurt me and it wasn't right. That he hadn't even tried, even though deep down inside I knew he had.

We should've never kissed. We should've never reunited. Damn you, Steve.

By the time I was opening the door to Dolphin's View, I'd begun envisioning Sam coming back to me and my pushing him away, doing what he'd done to me, getting my revenge.

Just forget about it. There's nothing that will change now. We're done. He's gone. Move on.

Damn him. He can go to hell. He can...

I exhaled and made myself not think about him anymore. If I did, I would've cried and that was the last thing I wanted Tracy or Grace to see.

Just pretend it's okay. Don't think about him. Don't think about today. It will all be fine.

Those thoughts were easier to say, but much harder to live. My feet weighed down on me as I entered the back entrance of Dolphin View. I headed straight to the kitchen, hoping to sneak a bottle of rum out the fridge and hide in my room. But when I got there, Chef Carmen hurried around the kitchen, mixing up bowls and stirring pots.

"Hey, Merce. How's it going?"

I displayed a fake smile. "Really great. Everything is so awesome. Birds and blue skies. Sunshine. All awesome."

"Okay." She gave me a weird look and then returned to mixing. "Someone's been smoking a little ganja."

"Not me."

"Hmm."

"I'll be out of your way soon." I headed to the fridge. "I just got to grab this bottle."

So I can drown in alcohol until I fall asleep. How's that for spiritual balance?

A boom came from behind me, and then footsteps. I paused from what I was doing and turned around, hoping it was Sam begging me back, telling me that he'd been an idiot.

Instead, Tracy rushed in.

I sucked my teeth.

"Well, nice to see you to." Tracy widened his eyes. "By the way, have you seen Grace?"

"No."

"Dang it." He tapped the keys in his hand.

"What's up?"

"Our favorite couple was at it again this morning."

"The blonde and the dark haired man?"

"Yes. We're now putting them in separate rooms. The husband is ready to go. He's been sitting in the lounge all morning waiting for her to come downstairs and let him go up to pack his things."

I checked my watch. "It's already late in the afternoon."

"Yeah. I knocked. She didn't answer. I wanted Grace to go in and let the woman know that we can't have her husband waiting all day." And then he looked at me and smiled. "Wait. You can do it."

Sure. I'm just the person Blondie should talk to—a woman that just got her heart broken. We might both end up kicking her husband's behind. I'm down. I hope she is. I've got a lot of pent-up ass whippings to hand out.

Tracy studied me and frowned. "Are you okay with that?"

"Sure."

Chef Carmen made a motion of smoking a joint on my side.

"I didn't smoke any weed today."

Chef Carmen laughed and started chopping onions.

"Artie checked out, but did he come around bothering you again?" Tracy asked.

"No. I'm sure he's gone."

"And Sam?"

"Sunshines and rainbows as usual."

"Hmm. We'll talk later. I hope he's doing you right because I just bought some new ammo for my shotgun and have been itching to use it." He placed the keys in my hands before I could respond. "Thanks for checking up on the blonde. I owe you one. I've got a clogged toilet on the third floor. I have to take care of that before those guests get back from their tour."

"No problemo." Sighing, I gave up on grabbing the bottle of rum and headed upstairs.

I can't wait until this couple leaves. They've caused nothing but chaos since they've got here, and I'm tired of cleaning up their messes.

I knocked on the door. "Housekeeping."

The blonde's voice didn't come from the other side, just a song. I strained to catch some of the words.

"This mad game we play. I run after you. And you after me." A bluesy melody flowed with the notes. "Will this ever end? Will we ever see? How mad? How mad we play?"

I recognized the song from when Sam had taken me to lunch. It was the last damn thing I wanted to hear today. It was like the universe hadn't finished bothering me yet.

"There is no end, when two souls are lost. But is it love, if there is no cost?"

I knocked louder.

"Such a mad mad game. Still, I'm calling your name."

I shifted my knocking to banging, wondering if she could hear me over the music.

"Still, you're in my dreams at night. Still, I'm in darkness and you're the only light."

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to come inside!" I knocked again, sounding more like a cop and less like housekeeping. "I hope you have your clothes on and I'm not disturbing you. Please make a sound to let me know if it's okay to come in."

I waited another minute. There was nothing like barging in on someone that wanted privacy. The music continued to flow out of the room. In the song, the singer paused and let the saxophone play its own form of her melody.

I leaned my head against the door. Nothing but the song came to my side.

"Such a mad mad game. Still, I'm calling your name."

I knocked two more times before putting the key into the knob.

Really, I am not going to give me a break today.

I opened the door and realized why she hadn't answered.

"Still, you're in my dreams at night."

Feet were the first thing I spotted. They dangled in front of me. My body froze as I raised my gaze up to the blonde's stiff body hanging from the chandelier. It was odd, but the first thought that came to mind was that I couldn't believe the chandelier could hold her weight.

It was crazy what people thought about in times of insanity.

"Still, I'm in darkness and you're the only light."

The next thing that rushed out was my own screams. They filled the halls, scaling up the walls and down the stairs. I just couldn't stop screaming. Tears fell from my eyes. My brain shattered from the view of the dead, heartbroken woman.

Why did you do it? Why did you kill yourself? It would've been okay.

A second later, Tracy cursed at my side, yanked me out of the room, and closed the door. "Oh shit!."

"There is no end, when two souls are lost."

"Why?" I mumbled. "Why?"

Tracy held me close to him. "Shit."

I trembled. "Why did she do it?"

"But is it love, if there is no cost?"

"She just gave up, Merce." Whispering, he held me tighter. "The pain must've been too much."

He slowly moved me out of the hallway as other guests peeked out of their rooms and gathered around us.

"She just gave up," Tracy whispered again and I cried against his shoulder.

"Such a mad, mad game."

* * *

_Sam_

The next day, it rained all morning. The weather matched my mood.

Last night, I sat at a bar, drinking my stress away and drawing images of Merce into cocktail napkins. I sucked down several drafts of KW Sunset Ale in between fruity Bahama Mamas in chopped off coconuts, with two types of rum mixed with coconut water. Later, the bartender called Steve to pick me up and I pretended like everything was okay, but I was sure he saw through the bullshit. For the rest of the evening, I hugged my toilet, throwing all of that liquid crap up and wishing my feelings for Merce would fall into the commode too.

Today, my bags were packed and ready to go. I had my identification, money, music, and anything else I would need for the flight.

I'd gotten in my car early this morning to drive up to Miami and catch my flight. I could've taken our private jet, but then Steve would've been warned of my leaving. I didn't want him or anyone else getting in my way. He would've tried to stop me.

I was ready to go. Leave. Get out of the Keys. Fly away. Never return. I was ready to leave Merce and Steve—the two people who didn't deserve me.

I was ready.

Then, why am I still here?

I sat in my car the entire time, letting the hours go by until I missed my flight.

By afternoon, someone knocked on my car window. I looked, but couldn't make out the dark figure in front of me. I rolled the window down and Giselle smiled back at me, holding an umbrella.

"Do you need help?" she asked.

She shrugged. "Then, can I come in?"

"My car?"

"Yes." She walked over to the other side without waiting for my approval.

Fuck.

I unlocked the door.

"Lots of rain today." She hopped in. "This is a wet hurricane season."

"They always are." I checked her feet. She still wore no shoes. Drops of water covered her toes.

"So..." She rubbed her hands together, held them to her mouth, and blew through them like she was cold. "We should talk."

"I don't want to."

"Then, why have you been sitting out here most of the day?"

I didn't respond.

"I know what you're going through," she said.

"I doubt it."

"Trust me. I do." She twisted my way and faced me. "My ex-husband used to do bad things to me. It didn't matter how much I tried to love him. He just enjoyed putting his hands on me more than kissing my lips." She showed me her arm. "He liked to cut me most of all. I think he loved the way it made me scream, made me cry out in so much pain. And then, afterwards, he would clean me up, kiss my wounds, and tell me he loved me."

I gripped the steering wheel hard, wishing I could beat his ass. Any male that hit or cut a woman deserved to get his head smashed in several times. "Why didn't you leave sooner?"

"Too damaged to see the door right in front of me."

I gritted my teeth.

"But I did leave him eventually. Of course. It was hard and it took everything out of me, but I ran away." She let that sink in. "I escaped, but it was only a physical escape. My mind still remained in that dirty old apartment where my blood would drip on the floor, and my cries would paint the walls in darkness. I ran away from that place, but my heart, my mind, my soul…stayed there."

I let my hands fall from the steering wheel and rest on my lap.

"Where is your mind and soul right now?" she asked.

"Why didn't you ask me about my heart?" I looked at her. "Do you think I don't have one?"

"You have one, but I already know who has your heart. It's with her, right where you left it. It's with Merce."

My chest heated in pain.

"But, where's your mind and soul right now?" she asked again.

"It's in a cage." I turned back to the front window, watching the rain drops hit against the glass. "My ex-wife was a serial killer. When I found out, she tortured me for two days."

Giselle whistled. "That explains a lot. So, what you did was put a bunch of band-aids on several gunshot wounds."

"And now you know why I am crazy as hell?"

"You can heal, but only if you want to. Only if you believe. "

I remained quiet.

"I should go I do have a customer to pick up from her flight. That's why I am here. I saw you waiting in your car thinking maybe something was wrong with you. Her flight was delayed due to weather, and it should be returning now."

"Maybe my flight was delayed, and I need to check and see."

"Boy, you're not going anywhere." Giselle smirked. "As we've already agreed, she has your heart."

The rain started to lessen, but still, thunder boomed.

I didn't answer. What could I say? I had committed a crime. I'd broken Merce's heart and she didn't do anything to be treated that way.

I am a freaking idiot.

Giselle peered out of her window and whistled. "I have to go. I just wanted to help you out. Like I needed help so long ago."

"And you're better?"

"Better than I'd ever thought I would be. I still have some things I need to work on, but we all have that." She opened the car door and stepped out.

I sighed.

"Fear will block you from life," she said.

"Okay."

"And you better hurry up and talk to her. It's never wise to keep a sister waiting. Another guy would love to swoop in and replace you." And with that, she shut the door.

My body relaxed for the first time that day. I didn't quite understand everything Giselle had said, but I did get the part of fear. The more I got closer to Merce, the more anxiety came.

I'm scared to love her.

I had to finally admit it to myself.

Why am I scared to love her?

Then the answer came to me, slicing my heart apart.

"Because it feels so good. Because she's perfect. Because I'm an idiot." I turned on the car. Stacy's song Stupid Lies blasted from my speakers. It was the only song of hers that I didn't like, but today those lyrics ran close to home. Today, I finally understood what she was trying to say when she wrote them.

"You lose yourself in my wicked eyes, so scared I tell my heart stupid lies."

I pulled out of the parking space and drove home, hoping Merce was at Dolphin View. I had to see her. I couldn't wait any longer. And if there was some guy that had swooped in to replace me, I would crush his fucking head into pieces.

"I say I don't love you. Such stupid lies."

I'd always been a smart man. A book nerd with pride. The pursuit of knowledge remained a simple quest. Numbers calculated the same way each time. Philosophers debated. History argued this point of view and that.

But when it came to women, I fumbled and dropped the ball. I looked for the safe person after I was too much of a coward to tell Merce how I felt. Rachel seemed like that person—never arguing, never needing, never adding to my life or taking away. Just a body in my bed and a person cooking in the kitchen, saying all of the right things.

And then she ended up being a serial killer, so that theory of safety was dead wrong.

Then, there was Merce. Wild and unpredictable. Soft and warm. A hurricane of crazy thoughts and actions. Love within chocolate skin. There was no reason to ever think my crazy Cherry Coke would be safe, but that was what she was and so much more. She was love. She was warmth from the cold, kisses in the morning, sex in the evening, and caring hugs to stop the nightmares.

She was everything I could never describe, but always needed. Always wanted.

"And we'll die, if we don't stop this, if we don't ignore the lies."

I rounded the corner, drove to my house, and parked in the front.

"And we'll die, but neither of us care and we don't know why."

* * *

_Mercedes_

It stormed outside. On the inside, a somber silence thickened within Dolphin View.

Yesterday, the ambulance had taken the blonde's body. Grace asked if I wanted to know her name. I shook my head. Her dead body had already been a center of all my nightmares last night. I didn't need to know anything more.

The blonde's husband cried and bellowed all night on the beach, drinking the hours away. In the middle of the night, I woke up and watched him from the window. He'd slung a bottle down in the sand and walked into the ocean. I never saw him come out.

I asked Grace about it the next day and she'd said he'd already checked out and was probably heading home to bury his wife. Neither one of us wanted to think of the alternative, that this broken man floated somewhere out in the sea, guilty for the pain he'd caused his new wife.

My phone buzzed.

I checked the screen. Sam was calling. He was the last person I wanted to talk to. After helping Grace and Tracy deal with the poor woman's dead body and then calming down the guests, I wanted no parts of the Keys anymore.

If Sam could leave, I would too. I'd already packed my bags.

I just had to figure out where I was going. LA would be a big ass no. New York would be a hell to the no. Miami was just the Keys, but with more buildings, assholes, and nightclubs. After more contemplation, I'd decided to flee the United States altogether. Maybe I could rush off to India or Italy or Bali. Get my Eat, Pray, Love on.

My phone buzzed again. The screen displayed Sam's name.

What does he want?

A knock came from my door.

I jumped. "That better not be him."

Grace peeked in. "Samuel is downstairs wet and looking desperate. He would like to talk to you."

My heart stopped for a few seconds, shocked that he was still in the area. I thought for sure he'd left.

She stepped inside. Exhaustion covered her face. I could tell she hadn't slept last night.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Are you going to talk to him?"

I didn't want to. What would he say, that he wanted to try again, or would he just give me more apologies?

"Could you tell him that I'm not here?" I asked.

"I already told him that you were here. What's up?"

"Nothing. I'll be downstairs."

Grace let out a long breath and left me to my confusion. Thank God because I didn't plan on saying anything more.

I'm not going back to him, so he can forget about that. You can't push me away and make me cry and then think it will all be better again.

Still, pain mingled with anticipation with seeing him again. I paced in my room, trying to gather my thoughts.

Be strong. Think about the blonde. I don't want to be her, so bruised on the inside that I would just leave the world altogether.

I pulled my hair into a ponytail and put on a different shirt, cursing myself for trying to look more presentable.

You've got this. Go downstairs. Hear him out and then tell him to go.

Sighing, I headed to the door. Just as I eased it open again, Sam rounded the corner with fear pulsing in his eyes. He spotted me in the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks. His hands were fisted and at his sides. The air thickened with tension.

I stepped back.

He kept his voice low. "Can I come inside?"

"Why?"

"We should talk."

"We already did."

"I regret everything."

"You should."

"I shouldn't have pushed you away. I should have heard you out. I shouldn't have made you cry."

All the words I had to say fell away from my lips. Silence stood between us.

"I didn't want to fall in love with you, but I did. What's even more messed up is, I thought I knew what love was, but I had no idea…until you came back into my life."

I edged back, unsure of what to say. This was the last thing I was expecting.

We locked eyes.

"I packed my bags," he whispered. "I bought a ticket to leave this morning. I got in my car and I couldn't leave. I tried to too but luckily someone helped me."

"You came back?"

"Yes, a wise woman from Soul Tribe named Giselle talked some sense into me." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I thought Rachel hurt me, but knowing that I would never see you again...that cut deeper than anything she did to me. There was so much pain."

My heart ached for him.

He walked inside my bedroom, closed the door, and scanned the space with his eyes, probably taking notes of the suitcases and boxes spread out on the floor. "Where are you going?"

"I haven't figured it out yet."

"You can't leave."

Sam formed his hands into fists and then let them go, looking like his mind was spinning out of control.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

I broke the quiet. "There was this blonde woman that stayed here."

He stared at me.

"She was newly married. The husband was here too. You might've seen them on the beach or walking around town, but it doesn't matter now." I walked over to my bed and sat down. "Some days, they resembled love birds. The other days, they screamed and threw plates at each other. More her than him."

He walked over and sat down on the bed next to me.

"Grace said that they were always arguing about the man cheating. I don't know. That doesn't matter either." I swallowed my sadness. "I found her hanging from the chandelier yesterday."

"No." Sam pulled me into his arms and held me tight. "No, baby. Are you okay?"

I didn't want to, but I felt safe in his arms. Like nothing could ever hurt me. Too bad he'd already hurt me. "I don't want to be her."

"You won't. That will never happen." Sam kissed my forehead and rubbed my back. "Never."

"You said you would never make me cry."

"That was dumb. I think in life, we'll make each other cry sometimes. At the very least, life will cause us to cry. But it's what we do afterwards."

I climbed out of his arms. "What's the point of loving someone if it's going to tear you apart?"

"Love doesn't tear you apart. That wasn't love with that couple. That was pain and disrespect."

Tears fell from my eyes. "I don't want to be her. I don't want to love someone so much that I wrap a rope around my neck and—"

"No, Merce. That's not you. That's not me." He gestured to the suitcases. "Is this why you think you're leaving?"

"Think?"

"You can't think that I would let you go."

"You already did."

"I tried because I was an asshole that was too scared to deal with reality, but I won't do that again. I love you. I fucking love you. I haven't said that in years. And I swear to God, I believe this is the first time I've ever really meant it with anyone. I love you."

I focused on my breaths, taking it all in, trying to see past the darkness that was surrounding me.

Out of nowhere, laughter fled my lips. "What?"

"I think we need to go to counseling."

"Excuse me?" I leaned away from him. "Who are you? Where's Sam?"

"I talked to Giselle. It was probably unavoidable, since I sat outside the place in my car for several hours, trying to figure out what to do. She came over and talked to me."

"And?" I searched his eyes.

"I...I think you were right. I should try. I should always try to feel better, to heal. I should never just sit in my darkness, build a wall around me, and then live in an emotionless cave. I should try to get out. To escape. I should try one thing and if it doesn't work, try something else. What I can't do is give up. What I won't do is run away. Never again."

I got back into his arms and leaned against his chest. My head remained foggy with the woman's suicide and him leaving me so fast and then rushing back. I just needed a several silent minutes to think everything through.

Of course, I loved him. Of course, I wanted him back in my life, in my arms, in my bed. But, I had to make sure it was the right choice for me.

How many times had I given Artie a chance? Too many. How many times had I stuck it out with shitty men? So many I couldn't count them on one hand.

Sighing, he let me go and kissed my forehead. "Come on. Let's go on a ride. You need to think.

"I should think about this more."

"No. You're where I was years ago, traumatized from a horrific picture of death. Brokenhearted because I was a fool and hurt you. You're dealing with so much. Don't do what I did. Don't turn away."

He rose from the bed and took out his keys. "Come on. Let's go on a drive. We won't have to talk."

"A drive?"

"Just you and me zooming past the ocean with the wind dancing in our hair."

"The wind dancing in our hair? Have you been reading my book?"

"Yes. I was trying to figure out what the hero did to get the heroine back."

I couldn't help but laugh again. "What the hell happened between the hours that I saw you last? You're a different person altogether."

"You did this. I just finally stopped fighting it."

I ended up leaving with him, going downstairs, and getting into his car.

We tore away from Dolphin View and headed for the bridges. Jazz softly played in the background. It had finally stopped raining, so there was a clean scent in the moonlit air.

Sam's expression was unreadable as he gripped the steering wheel. The car flew us away. Suddenly, the tension in my shoulders relaxed. I hadn't left Dolphin View when I'd returned from Sam. I needed this moment away, from where the memories of the blonde woman now haunted the walls.

Sam didn't say anything as he drove us onto the first bridge. He just reached his hand out to mine and tenderly held it.

He said he loved me. He said he was sorry, that he would never do it again.

It took us no time to get to the seven-mile bridge. Even during the day, it was intimidating. At night, I barely ever drove over it. It was too freaky for me to be zooming over all that ocean. It was the longest bridge in the Florida Keys, wide enough to give a person room to pull over and change a flat tire, and long enough to have newcomers worried that the bridge would never end. The original bridge stood nearby appearing rusty and less friendly, all narrow and harrowing. Now, only the pelicans and great blue herons used it as a perch.

Nevertheless, a soothing calm washed over me as I looked out at the rippling dark water and studied the moon's reflection on the ocean's surface.

I'm glad he took me out here.

After a while, we left the bridge and headed to Marathon Key, close to where he'd taken me so many nights ago. I directed my attention forward and realized we were going to that same private beach.

When he parked in the spot where we'd made love, he shut off the car and tightened his grip on my hand. Silence filled the air. Moonlight hit his gorgeous face.

"I'm sorry, Merce," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I do."

I looked out the window and breathed in the fresh air. "You were right. The drive and being out here is making me feel better."

"You had to get out of the darkness."

I smiled and shook my head. "Should I call you Guru Sam now?"

"As long as you promise to call." He rubbed his thumb back and forth on the palm of my hand. "You know that I won't let you leave?"

"You mentioned that."

"It's true. Fucked up, but true. I just want to be honest with you. I want to start this off right."

I grinned. "By saying that you'll keep me in the Keys against my will?"

"By confessing that I would follow you to the ends of this earth. That I won't ever let go. That if you run, I'll beg and chase and plead with you, until you're exhausted."

"That's dedication."

"That's love."

I let go of his hand, opened the car, and stepped outside.

He didn't question it as he followed and walked over to my side. "How do you feel now?"

"Like I've just been through an emotional tornado."

"You have." He embraced me, wrapping those huge arms around me. "You're also beautiful and all mine."

"All yours?"

"Every inch. And I'm yours, until my dying breath." He pulled my body to his, molding me into him.

A low groan escaped my lips. I hadn't meant to let it out. I was still trying to think through my decision. But then, his lips touched mine and all rational thought left me.

"I love you," he whispered against my mouth and before I could respond, he stole my words with an intense kiss that sent throbbing down to the center of my thighs.

"I love you," he whispered again. "I love you, Merce, and I'll never stop."

The ache in my chest filled with his love. I felt lighter and freer.

Leaning back, I rested my arms on his shoulders. "I love you too."

He tried to lean in and kiss me again, but I edged away.

"You can't run," I said. "No matter how scared you get, talk to me. I'll give you space, if you need it, but talk to me. We help each other. We're in all of this together."

"Oh you going _High School Musical _on me."

I laughed. "I can't believe you remember that."

"How many times did you make me watch it with you?"

"I don't know maybe ten or twenty."

"Well, I always be the Troy to your Gabriella."

"You are so crazy Sam Evans."

"Crazy as a loon. Crazy for you. So, crazy that I am insisting that we have to get you out of the attic. You should stay with me for now."

"I think that's a big leap. We've just decided to date again."

"Dating?" He snorted. "We're well past that."

"Then, what are we?"

"Girlfriend and boyfriend. Life partners. Soul mates. Whichever name you like."

"Um—"

He devoured my lips again, not letting me come up for air. For the first time that night, I was certain I'd made the right decision. His arms were love. Those kisses were love. Every damn inch of him was love. And finally, he'd realized it too.

Under the moonlight, we molded together, folding into each other beneath the stars. I forgot all the things that had depressed me—the blonde woman's tragedy, the argument we'd had, the pain I'd felt. I let it all fall away, and I rode the breeze.


	13. Epilogue

**Author Super Support Roll Call: Emma, BMarie90, whoknowstv, temptation29438, arwenforlife, monni2215, Mowatts87, and cherica22 and all who favorited and followed this tale and anybody I left out due to my super fast uploading and publishing of this fanfiction. Thanks a trillion for showing me your love- old auntie is going back inside her proverbial hole. Hopefully sickness won't force me out again before the summer. Job has been stressful, family has been stressful, friends have been stressful, and maybe my body just needed a break. Hopefully you all are well and taking self-care and I hope to be back next year in a healthy mind and not just posts chapters that may have critical parts missing or messed up because I was on cold medicine the entire time lol. The first time Zicam and elderberry let me down. If you review please give me a suggestion or PM on how to feel better I have tried Theraflu, Mucinex, Zicam, and taking zinc, Vitamin C, elderberry, tumeric and black pepper, garlic, chicken soup, the list goes on and on my family. I have no cough or fever just excessive phlegm and sluggishness (probably a side effect of all the meds).**

**Standard Disclaimer I own nothing all belongs to Kenya Wright and the powers that be at Glee.**

**Epilogue**

_Mercedes_

Mostly naked and coated in body paint, we marched with the band and joined the parade on Duval Street. Masks covered our faces. Shells partially covered my nipples and a thong bikini covered my bottom. Sam had on a tiny thong. He had painted me similar to Ariel from the Little Mermaid and himself as Eric the gangster tawny haired prince based on my new novel.

A week had passed, and the partying had begun, trumpeting in Fantasy Fest, a massive adult Halloween celebration lasting ten days and packing the streets with naked, painted people on every corner, bringing in over 75,000 people each year.

Back in the seventies, tourism had declined, especially during October. During that time, most shops and restaurants closed for a month. But then a group of local business owners came up with Fantasy Fest, hoping to attract visitors and tempt snowbirds to return sooner. They'd been smart. Fantasy Fest boosted the economy.

The festival always started with a show-stopping parade, and then the days continued with extravagant masked balls and tons of parties, more costumed marches, and street fairs full of delicious food and thrilling games. Every business had a float trying to outdo the others. Many of the events served as fundraisers for local non-profit organizations. The most important was the iconic King and Queen of Fantasy Fest campaign, which raised money for AIDS Help of Monroe County.

While the festival called for costumes, somehow it became traditional to be as naked as possible. Grace figured it was due to all the alcohol being poured through every foot of the Keys. So, Sam and I stomped on the street in mostly paint. He'd been air brushing our designs all day in anticipation of this evening.

Walking out here with Sam at my side was like stepping into a new life—one fit for a queen. Everything felt so alive around us. I didn't know if it was the fact that our love had grown stronger and stronger with each day, or the booming rhythm of the keys. The streets were a kaleidoscope of bright colors and shifting light. Music rode the cool energy flowing in the air.

We found a great spot to check out all the action. The main parade was supposed to start in ten minutes.

I turned to him. "I thought Steve was coming."

"He was, but then he drank too much last night and is now nursing a hangover."

"He's missing all the fun."

"He needs to slow down."

"You should send him over to the Soul Tribe they have licensed therapeutic counseling specialists there as we well know." I had my own clinical psychologist Dr. Jane Howard who had helped me tremendously. She was very professional and didn't let me get away with not sharing and dealing with my own trauma over finding a dead body and trying to do to much for Sam. She helped me achieve balance and help me talk through my issues allowing me to set goals and attain them to help me be the best I could be.

And as for Sam, he had to see a psychiatrist, Dr. Santana Lopez, to treat his PTSD with medicine and to deal with his trauma. Dr. Lopez didn't give Sam any had helped Giselle and owned a percentage of the business. She herself suffered from PTSD after being attacked for coming out as a lesbian in devout Catholic family. She had received counseling as a teenager and decided to work in the field as an adult. She had written many books, and had a lot of experience in the field at such a young age. She had suggested Sam give back by helping with the art therapy. I helped with the music and literature therapy at the place as well. Helping others helped ourselves especially since we worked with a lot of children who had witnessed spousal abuse or been victims of all kinds of abuse as well.

"No," Sam said. "He'd be over there hitting on all of the workers."

"Giselle is an awesome manager. She can handle him."

"I doubt that."

"You should set something up. My bet is on Giselle whipping him into shape. She has forgiven your family and let go of the past. She has been a great accountability coach for you."

"I'm easy. Steve is ridiculous. He's now talking about world records and trying to do sixsomes. I'm just waiting for him to crash, calm down, and get back to himself."

"You should pay him back and do some behind the back maneuvering."

He nodded. "I should. It would keep him busy."

"I'm just saying."

"Steve at Soul Tribe could be disastrous."

"You have to give it a try."

"I'll think about it."

I wrapped my arm around Sam's. "I can't believe I've never done one of these. This is insane."

"I can't believe I'm letting you walk around here partially naked."

"I'm not officially naked."

"I can definitely tell where your curves begin and end."

"That's because you've spent days studying my body."

"And still, I want to study it some more." He slipped his hand down my ass and cupped it. "Damn. After this parade, I'm going to rub all this paint off you with my cock."

"So, freaky." I grinned. "I think I'm going to rub myself all over you."

He groaned, pulled me in front of him, and cradled me from behind. "Let's go now."

Just from his firm embrace, my pulse sped up, anticipating more. "Sam."

"I want to screw you so bad I'm going crazy."

"Damn you." I licked my lips. "Okay. We can leave. But not before we see Grace and Tracy's float. I must've worked on that damn dolphin for weeks. I never want to see blue sequins or glue again."

"Okay." He pressed his hard cock against me. "Sounds so good."

"Did you even hear anything I said?"

"Not one word."

I laughed.

The more he touched me, the more I knew we probably wouldn't see any float at all. In fact, I didn't think we'd even make it back to his house.

"I want you right now."

"Me too."

Just being around him gave me a rush. My body blazed on fire.

How was it possible to get so turned on just from being near him? I turned around and faced him, pressing my breasts onto his chest. Hard muscle wrapped around every inch of his body.

Damn. I'm lucky.

Since going to his therapy sessions and taking medicine for his PTSD, he'd become less uncomfortable with showing his stomach and chest off. No longer did he care about his scars. He'd even been working on a design to cover them. He no longer wanted to wear them as a badge of horror. He'd begun to move on, step onto a new path where there was more to his future than the past.

Bands boomed and jammed around us. More people packed the streets, waiting for the parade to begin. Canopies of twinkling lights outlined every block. It was all so perfect, so insanely ideal.

I turned around and looked up into Sam's haunting green eyes. Love washed over me.

This was really happening. I'd given my heart to him and didn't look back. I'd done exactly what Tracy told me not to do. I'd gone into this heart-in and had no regrets.

"I love the way you're looking at me," he whispered. His thick body pressed hard against mine. Raw energy rippled through him. Every time we made love, that hot power rushed through me.

He's all mine.

He leaned further into our embrace. "We should probably start having adult discussions," he said.

"Adult discussion?" I giggled. "That doesn't sound like fun at all."

"Still, we should."

"And what will these adult discussions be about?"

He brought his strong hands to my face. Intensity blazed in his eyes, an unstoppable desire coming from his gaze. My heart pounded at the sheer heat of his passion.

It was all for me.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

"We should be talking about the future."

"Okay."

"Kids and marriage."

I gasped on air and choked. "What?"

"Relax. It's a discussion. Lots of discussions, but we should start talking about them."

"Kids?" I swallowed. "And marriage?"

"You heard me," he growled, lowering his lips to mine. Our mouths met, and it was music—a sweet melody. Our tongues twisted around the other. I couldn't get enough of him. I craved him more than he could ever know. The taste of his sweet tongue—his warm flesh—sent all my senses spinning. His wild scent seeped into me and there was no turning back. If he'd yearned to make love to me out here, I would let him. He could take me anytime, anywhere, and anyplace.

As if he heard me, he whispered, "We have to go. I want you out here, but I couldn't let any other man watch you come. It's bad enough I've let you come out here almost naked."

"Covered in paint and a bikini sort of."

"Naked enough for me."

Giggling, I ran my fingers through his thick hair and caught his bottom lip in my teeth, tugging it ever-so-gently.

"Merce." He sucked in a huge breath, pulling me tight against him.

"You want this, baby?" I rubbed against him. His cock was hard and long and ready to be inside of me. Already, I was close to coming and he hadn't even entered me.

"It's not nice to tease." He slipped his hands over the rise of my ass. "Not when you know I'll make you beg for this cock when we get home."

"Beg?"

"All night long."

"You couldn't keep yourself away from this touching me for more than twenty-four hours."

Growling, he lifted me up and kissed me so hard I could barely breathe.

"Sam!"

"Oh no. You want to talk shit. Okay. I'll show you."

"Put me down." I said as he continued to lift me into a fireman's lift.

He smacked my ass before lowering me to the ground. People in the crowd laughed and slung glitter at us. Sam brought me down but kept me wrapped in his arms. Speechless and full of shock, I held onto him.

"You knew I was crazy," he said. "I don't know why you would test me. Let's me know that I chosen a fellow crazy person to share my life with."

"I might be a little touched, but you're a mad man, Sam Evans."

"I'm your mad man."

"Yes, you are."

Sam led me away from the festival. Away from all the partying people and booming music. He hurried us through the gleaming maze of floats and packed bars. It was all an adrenaline rush, a fast-paced surge of energy coursing through my veins.

Tonight was our night, and tomorrow night would be our night too. Nothing would get in our way. Not one person or thing could alter our path. I knew this deep down in my bones. Our love was real, stronger than any hurricane, and sweeter than a glass key lime tea made with all of the honey from every honeybee.


End file.
